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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686189">Call My Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodbyeBabylon/pseuds/GoodbyeBabylon'>GoodbyeBabylon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rx for the Hurt [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>House M.D.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Porn, Canon Compliant, Couch Sex, Friends With Benefits, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kitchen Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Shower Sex, Tags Are Hard, Unrequited Love, Workplace Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:47:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>49,785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodbyeBabylon/pseuds/GoodbyeBabylon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers: S2E24</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your leg,” the oncologist panted out, squirming and pressing up further into House’s touch, his legs were spreading. And fuck if Jimmy wasn’t a pretty picture – hair messy and cheeks flushing, dark lashes on pale skin as his eyes closed, mouth pink and open and gasping.</p>
<p>“Leg’s fine Jimmy,” he breathed out, crushing their lips together again, licking filthily into the other’s mouth, tracing the edges of his teeth and the ridges of his palate before tangling wetly with Wilson’s. Normally, about that time, they’d have to move to the bedroom – more room for him to spread out, to make his thigh as comfortable as possible. But not tonight.</p>
<p>“It worked,” Wilson asked, tone more than a little surprised – not that House blamed him. It had been a stretch, something out of a coma-dream with probably less than a fifty-fifty chance of working. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or ... House's ketamine treatment is a success, so let's have a little fun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg House/James Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rx for the Hurt [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Shou's Hoard of Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Call My Name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi all! 2 things:</p>
<p>1) This is my first fic posted here, and probably my first fic posted *anywhere* in about 10 years - but this had to go somewhere. I tried to button it up, but if there are typos or issues with the tags or anything, just lmk.</p>
<p>2) Originally, this was actually a writing exercise for explicit sexual content ... but somehow it got away from me. Next thing I know, I'm adding angst and feelings and somehow I landed at a 50k word count. Anyway ... needless to say, now it's part of a series that my mind won't let go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Please enjoy my pornography :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He let himself in the door, letting it breathe closed behind him. House could see Wilson’s dark head just over the back of the couch, the other just lounging there. Resting his unneeded cane against the hall table, he walked slowly toward the couch. And there was something predatory in his movements.</p>
<p>Because with the bum leg swept aside by the ketamine, there were limitless possibilities for how the night would progress.</p>
<p>Slowly, he eased down on the couch beside his best friend. Wilson’s gaze remained on his book, the cooking show merely providing white noise in their apartment – well, <em>his</em> apartment shared after the whole thing with Julie had <em>finally</em> imploded, thank <em>God</em>. Even if Wilson had moved out, somewhat moved on. Because the younger man was still licking his wounds, was still finding himself at House’s – was still in House’s bed. If only for the moment.</p>
<p>And for a moment, the younger man was in <em>his </em>home and House let himself look Wilson over – after all, he was young and attractive even though oncology had worn sharp, tense edges into the lines of his face. No, that wasn’t fair. Wilson was <em>very</em> attractive – after all, there was a reason he was a chronic panty-peeler. Just . . . House didn’t know if that was something he should be thinking about his best friend – albeit with sometimes benefits.</p>
<p>The feeling of a drunk Wilson groping him, kissing him hungrily seeped into his thoughts. He remembered the harsh pants, Wilson biting softly at his neck. The mess. And it had funneled into a <em>sometimes</em> arrangement. Jimmy always had had an issue with bachelorhood, and House was there. And wasn’t <em>that </em>a ringing endorsement for them falling into bed. But pitifully, House would take it. Even as he tried to put distance between Wilson and the emotions puddling in his own pathetic chest, he would take whatever he could get when it came to the younger doctor – his only friend, his only successful personal relationship, the only thing of continued interest in his life.</p>
<p>Again, he took in the almost-not put together look of the younger man – the lack of a tie, the bare feet, an undone collar. Of course, Wilson looked fuckable – which House found himself thinking more and more. But the whole thing – fucking – was difficult, when his leg didn’t want to support his weight, when Wilson had to be strung out but still under him. And sitting there, with lust steeping outward from the marrows of his bones, House was again faced with the very real possibility – probability – of falling in love with Wilson. The younger man was a bastard when he wanted to be, but a caring bastard all the same, and it called to House.</p>
<p>Wilson finally let his head loll back, resting against the couch, and regarded him curiously with those coffee and rum eyes, dark brows tilted upward in question. “Yes,” the oncologist quipped; his soft lips pursed as if House’s staring was a distraction.</p>
<p>He didn’t say anything, and Wilson’s eyebrows quirked upward slightly before he sighed and returned his attention to the book.</p>
<p>Sitting there, House tried to think about all the times he had wanted more – that Wilson had showed that needy, slutty side that managed to drive House crazy without trying. But Wilson had always been overly conscious of his bum leg – of course – and anytime the younger doctor had tried to push back on fingers, on hard skin, the motion had stilled immediately. Not to mention Wilson fucked him like he was made of glass – instead of held together with bitterness and sarcasm.</p>
<p>Their sexual encounters – love making really, he thought – had always been slow, the gentle ebb of hips while they both accommodated his leg.</p>
<p>And while the situation was favorable – the beer, the food, the sex – not for the first time did House’s mind toy with the idea of Wilson looking elsewhere. After all, he’d watched the oncologist cheat on two of three wives and seduce his way through half the hospital following any period of bachelorhood. And while they were still just friends with benefits, House felt a strangely cold pit in his stomach when he thought about Wilson finding his way into another person’s bed.</p>
<p>Huffing a deep sigh – always so full of sighs – Wilson gave him a pointed look. “What, House.”</p>
<p>And already the thought was in his head.</p>
<p>Slowly, he moved, his mouth crushing against Wilson’s – those lips petal soft and parting with a surprised gasp. He pushed the younger man back, feeling the cushions give way slightly under their combined weight as Wilson went willingly enough. Because Wilson’s fingers were in his hair, keeping their mouths together while House shifted on the sofa to grind his hips down against the younger man. And Wilson was whining into the kiss, his hips shifting upward to meet the frotting, as House’s mouth ran a burning hot line down Wilson’s neck – sucking, biting, licking as he went. It took everything he had to not leave hickeys, especially when all he wanted was to show that Wilson had a place to call home.</p>
<p>“House,” Wilson groaned, his voice raspy. “What . . .” he tried to ask, but House was pulling at his shirt, tearing buttons free as his mouth moved down that smooth chest. His hands roamed along Wilson’s sides, hooking in the waistband of his slacks and knuckles pressing against skin.</p>
<p>The fingers in his hair finally pulled House’s face back to Wilson’s. The kiss was hungry, desperate – just like it had been all those months ago. Wilson bit at his lip, that hot tongue invading his mouth, and House was unable to keep from grinding his hips down even harder, making the younger man whimper and squirm. And normally, about that time, his leg would start to give – the muscles, or lack thereof, bitching at the rough treatment. But not tonight.</p>
<p>He managed to worm a hand between them, palming roughly at Wilson’s erection, giving a rub that made Wilson moan, pushing back against him. Like always, Wilson caught himself, and instead tried to gentle the kiss, tried to temper that need mounting between them. But House pressed his hand more firmly, nipping at the junction of the other’s neck.</p>
<p>House trailed his lips wetly up Wilson’s neck, biting softly at his earlobe. “I like it when you’re needy like this,” he managed to pant, his breath hot and damp against the soft curls of Wilson’s ear.</p>
<p>“Your leg,” the oncologist panted out, squirming and pressing up further into House’s touch, his legs were spreading. And fuck if Jimmy wasn’t a pretty picture – hair messy and cheeks flushing, dark lashes on pale skin as his eyes closed, mouth pink and open and gasping.</p>
<p>“Leg’s fine Jimmy,” he breathed out, crushing their lips together again, licking filthily into the other’s mouth, tracing the edges of his teeth and the ridges of his palate before tangling wetly with Wilson’s. Normally, about that time, they’d have to move to the bedroom – more room for him to spread out, to make his thigh as comfortable as possible. But not tonight.</p>
<p>“It worked,” Wilson asked, tone more than a little surprised – not that House blamed him. It had been a stretch, something out of a coma-dream with probably less than a fifty-fifty chance of working.</p>
<p>“Gonna fuck you on the couch,” House mumbled thickly in response, fingers struggling to undo Wilson’s belt, his zip while dark eyes flashed open in surprise.</p>
<p>“Your leg,” Wilson tried again, hand firmly closing over his in an attempt to slow House’s struggle. His chest was heaving, fair skin flushed all the way down to his sternum. Ever the voice of reason, Wilson pushed at his shoulder insistently with his other hand, looking up at House with eyes that seemed impossibly dark, pupils blown wide. “You shouldn’t tax it. Who knows how long it’s for – hours, maybe days.” Those dark eyes had pinned House in place, Wilson’s head tilted in clear indication that he was right. “So, bedroom?”</p>
<p>Which was decidedly what House didn’t want. He had plans on fucking Wilson on every flat surface that could hold their weight, of having the oncologist fuck him on the floor <em>at the very least</em> because damn he missed doggy style more than he had ever thought he would. But the look Wilson was giving him said the oncologist wouldn’t give in – not when it came to his leg, <em>never</em> when it came to his leg – and House sighed in defeat.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he grumbled, shoving himself gracelessly upward. And it was unfair how attractive Wilson looked then as he rolled lithely off the couch – shirt undone, trousers bulging enticingly, chest flushed and heaving, lips kiss-swollen and parted under dark, hungry eyes.</p>
<p>Fingers brushed House’s chest as the oncologist made to move past him. The gesture was surprisingly tender, and it broke House down to his id. It made him want to give Wilson everything, even if he had to cleave his own chest open to do so.</p>
<p>And if <em>his Jimmy</em> wanted a proper fucking instead of . . . well, whatever it was they normally did, if that would keep Wilson in his bed – House was more than happy to oblige.</p>
<p>He caught Wilson around the waist, pulling the slighter doctor back against him, bending the oncologist over the arm of the couch, earning him a surprised yelp from the other. Wilson’s hands braced on the sofa on instinct as his legs spread in an attempt to maintain balance. The cushion dipped under his weight, tilting Wilson down at an angle that pulled his pressed slacks tight against the swell of his ass.</p>
<p>And House groaned. Jesus he was <em>weak</em> for that ass. House’s hands curled around neat hips and ground his crotch against Wilson, folding over the other’s back to mouth hotly at his nape.</p>
<p>“House,” Wilson bit out, want threaded with a warning. Something a lot like <em>don’t write a check your ass can’t cash </em>– only nicer because Jimmy was infuriatingly polite. But luckily, his ass was totally capable of cashing out – if only for a bit, if only until the ketamine wore off though he seriously hoped it wouldn’t.</p>
<p>“Wilson,” he quipped in return, pulling Wilson’s ass back against him so one hand could slide forward, cupping the younger man’s erection and giving it a loving squeeze that managed to choke a moan from Wilson as he ground against House’s palm. House felt that pleasantly surprised noise almost as much as he heard it, making his own hips snap forward and grind in response.</p>
<p>“Fuck Jimmy,” House panted out, swallowing hard as he shakily undid an expensive leather belt and earning him a whine in response, Wilson pressing back into the friction. Christ, the other was going to fucking kill him, and House couldn’t think of a better way to go. He struggled to undo the button of Wilson’s slacks, jerking the zipper down probably a little more aggressively than he should have given what lay on the other side.</p>
<p>“You don’t have lube,” Wilson choked out, making a brief effort to squirm out from under House, who just leaned more of his weight along Jimmy’s back. House dug a packet of lube from his jeans pocket, tossing it down on the sofa between Wilson’s hands – who twisted his head around to give him a disbelieving look. “You planned for this!”</p>
<p>“Course,” he retorted as he squeezed Wilson’s hip, sliding his palm up along the other’s side to card through the thick hair at the back of his skull, tugging in the way he knew Jimmy liked best. Kiss-swollen lips parted in a moan as the line of Wilson’s spine curved – head pulling back, back swaying, hips lifting.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he panted out because James Wilson had been <em>made </em>for fucking. For giving and taking, in a variety of positions, and House was anxious to try them all. He scrabbled at pushing down those stupidly pressed slacks and ridiculously thin boxers, crushing his denim-covered hips firmly to Wilson’s bare ass. The first rock pushed the oncologist forward with a somewhat startled noise, trapping Jimmy’s cock between his stomach and the arm of the couch – well, he assumed that was the case if the groan that crawled out of the younger man’s throat was anything to go on. Not to mention, that was what House had been going for.</p>
<p>He set a deliberately slow pace, keeping Wilson curved, his fingers knotted in the other’s mostly opened dress shirt and holding it out of the way. His attention was firmly fixed on where their bodies crushed together – the rough fabric of House’s jeans irritating the pale skin of Wilson’s ass. His thumb pressed into one of the small divots right there at the base of Jimmy’s spine. He had the sudden urge to lick that skin, to feel the muscles twitch under smooth skin, to kiss and bite his way down pert cheeks until he could lick and suck at Wilson’s hole, his perineum, his sac, the base of his dick.</p>
<p>And <em>that</em> was a novel thought wasn’t it. His leg would allow for that kind of thing now. It had been a while since he’d fucked someone open with his tongue, even longer since he’d had a dick lodged in his throat. House rather missed that filthy sensation, but he could far too easily imagine his cheeks slick with spit while Wilson quivered and keened above him, body twisted to dig fingers down into House’s thinning hair. Could even imagine his scent, the warm sweaty-musk of his skin cut with the fading sandalwood-lavender scent of Wilson’s bodywash and hospital antiseptic.</p>
<p>That thought managed to pull a more aggressive rock from him, grinding his hips down against Wilson’s ass, effectively pressing the oncologist down hard against the arm of the couch. Wilson groaned, hips rolling down against the arm before dragging back to press against House’s still-clothed dick.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding his hips down against Wilson’s ass, his hand sliding up closer to the T12 vertebrae, rucking the younger man’s shirt up. And Wilson – <em>Christ, fuck him</em> – moved with the pressure, his elbows bending so his back sloped even more enticingly.</p>
<p>“House,” Wilson ground out, his hips jerking out and up, more firmly into the pressure. House hummed in acknowledgement, hands squeezing at Jimmy’s hips while he rocked forward. “Would you just get on with it?”</p>
<p>He sucked in a breath, fingers knotting tighter in the expensive oxford and leaning heavily against Wilson’s ass. House rocked harder, grinding down as his legs spread. The slightest of height differences, the spread and slant of Wilson’s frame – House was in the best position to fuck down into the other, hips snapping lewdly, skin against skin. <em>Christ</em> House thought, jerking back just far enough to scramble with his own button and zipper, because the thought set him on fire as he struggled to push his jeans down. And the heat of Jimmy’s skin was absolutely maddening through the tragically thin fabric of his boxers, practically burning him.</p>
<p>His already spread-thin patience snapped.</p>
<p>“Lube,” he bit out, sliding fingers down along the cleft of Wilson’s ass – the oncologist, seemingly impossibly, tilting his hips back into the touch as Wilson’s lovely teeth tore a corner off the packet before handing it back to House. He touched the quivering rim of Wilson’s hole, tracing a gradually narrowing circle along the fluttering muscle before pressing a dry finger pad to the center of it, threatening to breach the younger man. And Jimmy whimpered, pressing back.</p>
<p>It was probably a minor miracle that he managed to collect any of the slick from the packet of lube on his fingertips, that he was able to keep from shoving his dick into the willing but unprepared body in front of his.</p>
<p>House canted his hips to crush his barely covered cock against the seam of Wilson’s ass and thigh, as his fingertips rubbed encouraging circles around the twitching rim of Wilson’s entrance. A needy noise broke between them – unclaimed by either of them – the moment House pushed his index finger all the way down to the bottom of his third knuckle. His thumb pressed roughly against Wilson’s perineum, rubbing upward in an approximation of where Wilson’s prostate lay. The broken, keening noise that cracked out of Wilson’s chest told him that House had found it.</p>
<p>The sound made House grind his dick harder into the crease of Wilson’s thigh, his fingers digging in harder to the fabric of Jimmy’s shirt. <em>Christ</em>. He wanted the oncologist so <em>fucking </em>bad. House ground down harder, fucking his finger in and out, circling around the tight rim before adding another finger. Wilson whimpered, head dropping as his hips pushed back on House’s fingers prettily, his body accepting the intrusion easily enough.</p>
<p>Wet heat suctioned tightly around his fingers, and House groaned, leaning forward and pressing his mouth – open and searing hot – to Wilson’s still covered shoulder. He scissored his fingers, fucking them in and out of Wilson’s hole, keeping up the steady pressure to Wilson’s perineum. He spread his fingers, stretching Wilson’s rim and slowly driving the digits in and out, watching the stupidly hot slide of skin on skin. The younger doctor whined, hips jerking back and up into his touch. House pressed down harder, driving the other back into the sofa arm – which earned him a choked-out moan as Jimmy rutted almost lazily against the arm of the couch, hips tilted upward as if he could suck those fingers deeper through the force of gravity alone.</p>
<p>And <em>Jesus </em>didn’t Jimmy sound absolutely <em>perfect.</em> Little whimpers and punched-out pants of pleasure that were so different from the soft hums House normally heard when they fell into bed.</p>
<p>“Greg,” the other bit out, Wilson’s tone strained as one of his hands reached backward toward House’s hip in clear entreaty. Jimmy’s capable fingers knotted in the flimsy fabric of his boxers, tugging the fabric just slightly over his hips and the swell of his ass. And House couldn’t breathe as his boxers slipped down just a bit, the elastic getting hung up at the base of his cock before he hurried to shove them down. House canted his hips closer to the cleft of Wilson’s ass, his dick slipping between pert cheeks and giving an exploratory thrust – and <em>Christ</em> didn’t it feel perfect. The turgid length of his erection just slipping in and out of Wilson’s cleft, in the absolute best way, smearing precum and lube.</p>
<p>The room seemed to fill with breathy moans at that – a filthy mimicry of fucking that was hotter than it should have been.</p>
<p>His jeans and boxers had bunched at the top of his thighs almost comically, which was absolutely not for the best – seriously limiting his range of motion, but House figured he could spread his thighs enough to fuck Jimmy like he really meant it. It physically pained him to pull back, his fingers curling around the base of his dick and squeezing – and already he was thanking whatever fucked up God there might’ve been that he’d popped that Viagra before leaving Princeton-Plainsboro because <em>Christ </em>he didn’t think he’d ever been that hard. He dragged his hand forward, making sure his bent knuckles grazed Wilson’s ass as he stroked himself idly.</p>
<p>And that proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back – or at least in Wilson’s case.</p>
<p>Dark eyes flashed impatiently as Jimmy shoved upward, neck twisting to glare at House over his shoulder. “Would you just <em>get on with it</em>.”</p>
<p>House took that opportunity to drive forward, hips surging past that lingering resistance as glans met rim, <em>forwardforwardforward</em> until he bottomed out. Wilson made a punched-out noise, his hand scrambling against House’s hip, fingers digging into the meat of his ass, while the other curled over the back of the sofa in a white-knuckled grip. Which House could understand – because with Jimmy almost standing upright, it was like all his prep work had been for absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he choked out, leaning forward to mouth along the line of Wilson’s shoulder. “You’re so <em>tight</em>,” House hissed out, rocking his hips forward, reluctant to pull out at all.</p>
<p>“It’s because you’ve got a little dick,” Jimmy panted, his hips grinding back while he simultaneously pulled House forward.</p>
<p>He snorted, planting a broad hand between shoulder blades and shoving the younger down at a more suitable angle for him to drive his hips down. House pulled back just barely, snapping his hips forward as hard as he could – harder than he had been able to since that whole fucking leg thing – and choking a moan from Wilson.</p>
<p>“Little dick?” House pulled out further, hand knotting in that expensive shirt once more before rolling his hips and sinking back in, more leisurely as if in thought as he bottomed out and stilled. “Huh. Did you know recent studies show that my penis size is preferred for both one-night stands and long-term relationships?”</p>
<p>“Fascinating,” Wilson gasped out, elbows folding and hips jutting back in a rather blatant invitation. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re begging me to fuck you. I think there’s a term for that.”</p>
<p>House snapped his hips forward, dragging a groan out of Wilson’s chest, his head dipping between his arms. Jimmy was a bit too put-together for his liking. “Don’t kink shame me,” he mock pouted. <em>Damn Jimmy, </em>because he really was onto something there, wasn’t he.</p>
<p>“Would you just fuck me already,” Wilson huffed out. And it would have been rude for House to ignore <em>that</em> kind of invitation – what with Wilson’s back sloping so perfectly.</p>
<p>His knuckles dug against cloth-covered vertebrae while he grabbed the back of the sofa to steady himself. The denim around his thighs really was throwing him off, but he could make do. Spreading his legs as much as he was able, House set the pace – something sharp and hard, deliberating avoiding Wilson’s prostate as his fist pushed Wilson firmly against the sofa arm even as the oncologist tried to press back into the motion. Jimmy’s mouth already open and spilling a litany of breathy moans and the occasional curse. He slowed, already feeling his orgasm pooling heavy and warm at the base of his spine. Wilson whined at the change in pace, his hips jerking backward like a bitch in heat.</p>
<p>It bore noting once more, that James Wilson had <em>clearly </em>been made for fucking.</p>
<p>If he’d thought about it more, he probably would have shared the lube or at the very least given the younger just enough of a hand job to get him leaking – Wilson really did have a pretty cock, and it wouldn’t do for him to have carpet burn. Especially if it derailed the whole House-getting-fucked plan later on. But Wilson was rolling his hips down, huffing out breaths and clearly chasing his pleasure, before pressing back into House’s thrusts, encouraging him harder, faster. And House obliged, gritting his teeth – telling himself <em>mind over matter</em>, as if that would keep him from spilling into Jimmy’s clenching heat.</p>
<p>“Oh, God,” Wilson panted, hips jutting upward as legs spread, his hands clearly curling around the edge of the sofa cushion as he pushed backward. His knees bent, allowing him to trap his cock against the arm and lean forward in an invitation for something harder, deeper as he rutted against the sofa with a sharp whine. “Oh, God.”</p>
<p>“Just me,” House breathed, shuffling forward to accommodate. His hand slid further up Wilson’s spine, somewhere near his T6, as he folded himself along the other’s back. House rolled and rocked his hips, grinding down and keeping pressure on the younger man’s prostate. Wilson’s head dropped between outstretched arms with a low groan, hair falling messily into his face as he bore the motion. Huffed out breaths broke the monotony of skin slapping skin.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, Greg” Wilson panted out, without rancor – pitted with moans as it was.</p>
<p>“No.” House pulled back just to drive forward again, trying his damnedest to wedge his cock as deep in the younger man as he could, grinding and rolling his hips to that perfect ass. His fingers curled around the sharp juts of the other’s hips as he tried to deepen the motion. “Fuck <em>you</em>, Jimmy. Clearly.”</p>
<p>He had to slow down, because that heavy, warm feeling was threatening to overcome him. But Wilson felt so good. House drew back, almost slipping out before snapping his hips forward, yanking the slighter man back against him. And Jimmy rewarded him with an incredibly lewd moan, a panted-out <em>Christ</em>, and a beautifully swayed back as if Wilson’s ass was trying to suck his length deeper.</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>. House really had to slow down. Already, his pulse was thundering in his ears as a clear indication of his pending orgasm.</p>
<p>House slowed his thrusts, keeping them shallow – completely ignoring Wilson’s whine of displeasure.</p>
<p>“Really,” the oncologist huffed out, his tone incredulous despite its breathlessness. “Fucking <em>edging?</em>”</p>
<p>“Yep,” House lied. Wilson was the one with the stamina – hence the three wives, numerous paramours, and chasing anyone willing to spread their legs. Alright, that last one was an exaggeration. Wilson tended to bed <em>pretty</em> people only. And House hadn’t fucked with vim and vigor like that in years.</p>
<p>But he’d cut his own dick off before telling Wilson he was already tottering on the edge of release, that he wasn’t ready for it to be over just yet.</p>
<p>Sliding in deep, his hips pressed against that peachy-perfect ass, House stilled. He smeared wet kisses along Jimmy’s neck, panting and trying to calm down. But it was difficult, as Wilson clenched around him. A hand reached out and managed to touch the back of his skull.</p>
<p>“Just . . .” Wilson panted. “Let me. For a minute.”</p>
<p>And that sentence really made no sense, but before House could snark about it, Wilson was rolling his hips downward, grinding against the sofa and whimpering before pressing back against House’s weight. House figured the angle was perfect for his length to press firmly against Wilson’s prostate. Especially if the oncologist’s body clenching and rippling around him in apparent pleasure was anything to go on.</p>
<p>Fingers knotted harder in House’s short hair as Jimmy thrust against the rough fabric of the sofa, the pace picking up slightly and making the younger gasp and pant. House bit along Wilson’s shoulder toward the join of his neck, pressing against the oncologist more heavily. Wilson’s moans took on a quivering quality, his body clamping down along House’s cock in clear indication of pending orgasm, and House jerked Wilson's hips back free from the sofa arm.</p>
<p>Wilson groaned petulantly. “Greg.” The hand in his hair moved to House’s hip, pulling him closer, burying House’s dick deeper in his ass.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he huffed against the side of the other’s neck. His tongue slid along a pounding carotid, relishing in the bright twang of Wilson’s sweat as House tried to catch his breath. The body-warmed scent of his cardamom-leather cologne was dizzying, combining with the sweet musk of arousal as House tried to calm down.</p>
<p>If the other came, House was beyond certain he’d follow shortly after. The Vicodin abuse helped some, made it harder for him to cum – but the feeling of Jimmy clenching around him, the sounds he made as he quivered and jerked . . . well, House had learned the hard way he was only human. And Wilson orgasming drove him crazy, made him fuck hard and sharp like some rutting beast until he came.</p>
<p>A huffed-out breath, and then Jimmy was rocking back into him. The motion something slow and languid, like all those nights before – when his leg had been wrecked and their pleasure had pulled stickily, unhurriedly between them.</p>
<p>His fingers carded through thick, dark hair and House tugged Wilson’s head back so he could mouth along Jimmy’s jaw. He felt more than heard the low, rumbling moan before Wilson tilted his head to the side. The angle was awkward, turning the kiss into just the sloppy slide of mouths, a smear of tongues.</p>
<p>Orgasm aborted, House rocked his hips to Wilson’s, the younger man pressing back to meet him. He leaned back, his hands clutching at the soft padding of the other’s hips. House made the mental note to map that skin with his lips – he wanted to suck dark love-bites into the fragile surface of it. And Wilson, because he’d been made for fucking, drew his legs in close to House’s, punching his breath out of his chest because if Jimmy had been tight before it was nothing compared to the current situation.</p>
<p>“Christ,” House panted out, a hand sliding up to knot once more in Wilson’s shirt as he gave an experimental thrust. The slide of it was way too tight, way too <em>good</em> – pulling back that sticky feeling of pleasure puddling like warm lead in his pelvic girdle way too fast. And he wasn’t the only one thinking that, if the diaphragm-deep groan Wilson gave was any indication.</p>
<p>“Thought you two weren’t on good terms,” Wilson huffed out before moaning breathlessly, hips pressing back eagerly to meet House’s downward slide.</p>
<p>It took House <em>way </em>longer than he was comfortable admitting – even to himself – for him to piece the two together – Wilson thought he was being funny. Actually, Wilson was being <em>Wilson,</em> but House was trying to fuck him senseless. And so far, it had proven to be a harder task that he had prepared for.</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled, bringing his palm down sharply on the other’s ass – earning himself a <em>clearly</em> exaggerated moan tainted with amusement that House barely heard. His attention was rather firmly on the bright flush under his palm, and <em>Jesus</em> – Jimmy did have an exemplary ass, fitting in his palm perfectly, the right amount of swell and yield. House groaned, fingers digging into the meat of the cheek just to see the flesh give under his touch as he slid forward lazily.</p>
<p>He’d never watched himself fuck Jimmy, never seen how prettily the younger doctor took his cock – at least never from that angle, where he could lean back, with a hand griping the delightful swell of Wilson’s ass and his legs spread just enough for the optimal thrust, and watch as his dick sunk into that <em>obscenely </em>flawless ass inch after aching inch. His leg had never allowed it before that moment, always cramping up. But in that moment – watching his length disappear slowly into Wilson’s fluttering entrance, feeling that clamping heat and tightness essentially shrink-wrap around his length – Christ, it was good enough to punch his breath out of his chest.</p>
<p>Each thrust was exquisite torture – the heat and clench of Wilson’s ass around him, the soft, breathy quality of those moans, the way Jimmy pressed back into him before rocking down against the sofa. Purposefully, he avoided Wilson’s prostate, keeping his thrusts slow and even.</p>
<p>Wilson groaned, head dropping and pushing back into the thrusts impatiently. “Greg,” he panted out, fingers digging hard into the cushion. “If you don’t fuck me like you mean it, I’m not letting you near my ass for . . .” but the rest of the sentence shattered under the weight of his moan as House drove his hips forward hard.</p>
<p>Yeah – he wouldn’t be able to keep that pace for long, driving Jimmy down roughly against the sofa arm and thrusting as forcefully as his hips would allow into that tight, clenching heat, making sure to hit his prostate each time. House spread his hand hotly at the small of Wilson’s back, sliding his palm along the other’s spine. His blood was pounding in his ears and his orgasm was already coiling at the base of his spine, winding tighter and tighter.</p>
<p>House gave up thrusting, choosing to just bear down against Wilson’s ass and grind, pressing firmly against the other’s prostate, trapping the other’s dick against the sofa arm. He rested his head between Jimmy’s shoulder blades, listening to the rasping breaths and quivering moans that rattled out from Wilson’s chest. House rocked his hips down harder as deft fingers grabbed at his hip, fingertips digging bruisingly into the meat of his ass.</p>
<p>“Nnh,” Wilson whined, pressing back. “Th-” the word cut off with a gasp, hips jerking back and up. “Fuck! There!” Another sharp gasp. And House redoubled his efforts, hands curling sharply around Wilson’s hips – because his orgasm was practically hurtling through his nervous system and he’d be damned if he came before Jimmy. Not that time.</p>
<p>He drew back for a few more thrusts – quick-sharp things, because House didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep that up. Which was good, because it was apparently the push Jimmy needed as the younger man’s body clamped down full force and some sort of keening sob cracked its way out of his chest in orgasm. The sensation of it, as always, sparked something in his hindbrain, his hips fucking forward in a sharp, stuttering pattern as he chased release in that clenching heat until he came almost embarrassingly fast, spilling deep in Wilson’s ass.</p>
<p>Chest heaving, House rested against Wilson’s back – sucking in great mouthfuls of air, the scent of Wilson’s sandalwood-lavender soap and cardamom-leather cologne saturated with sex reaching deep into his lungs.</p>
<p>“What was that about fucking you like I meant it,” he finally gasped out, hips rolling downward to make a point. It would be totally gross to stay right where he was, but that was what House wanted – cock lodged deep in Jimmy’s ass until gravity pulled him free, his cum trickling down those lovely thighs possessively.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” Wilson panted, head hanging low between his arms. “Get off, you’re crushing me.”</p>
<p>Huffing out a breath, House shoved himself back – sliding free and wiping a sticky palm against his tee. Wilson rolled over on his back, collapsing on the couch bonelessly.</p>
<p>“You killed me,” he breathed out, head tilting back and eyes closing. House traced the long line of his throat with his gaze, a smile tugging at his lips as he did up his jeans.</p>
<p>“I really must be a god then, because the dead appears to be talking.”</p>
<p>“Owe me water,” Wilson gasped, head rocking back in the cushions as though he could feel House’s gaze on him, offering up his throat. He wanted to suck a bruise into the hollow of it, right there where his tie would knot and press against it, hide House’s possession away. He wondered if Jimmy would let him, fucked-out and pliant. Maybe he should ask.</p>
<p>“Needy,” he grumbled instead, huffing as he dragged himself toward the kitchen, hips aching deliciously. The hurt was spreading to his lower back, wrapping lovingly along the base of his spine. The sex was just <em>that </em>good.</p>
<p>He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge. Stealing a quick glance toward the living room, House could see Wilson’s knees over the couch arm, legs dangling under it from where he had collapsed on his back. And House was perhaps overly smug at that fact as he reached for his backpack, the goodies within. A fucked-out Wilson was <em>almost</em> as good as a drugged Wilson, and he was planning on having both by the end of it as he pulled out various blister packs and bottles.</p>
<p>Just stuff he had pilfered from the hospital – a sample pack of Viagra and some testosterone powder, some supplements that contained a large amount of omega-3, vitamin B-1, and zinc, muscle relaxants, the end of a prescription for knock-off, low-dose oxy. It was probably weird of him to be planning for them to fuck each other raw for as long as he was able – but he was. He dry-swallowed a not-oxy and twisted the water bottle’s lid open before opening one of the Viagra tablets.</p>
<p>“House,” Wilson called from the living room, tone sounding breathless.</p>
<p>“What,” he hollered, working the blue pill over with the back of a spoon.</p>
<p>And while Wilson probably didn’t need it, he still dumped a rather healthy portion of testosterone powder into Wilson’s water bottle, giving it a rough shake. House watched the sooty powder filter through the liquid, melting away into nothingness. He added the crushed-up Viagra as well, but that was more for him. He really did plan on convincing Wilson to do the whole beast-with-two-backs thing and mount him. God, he missed doggy style.</p>
<p>Already there was a tingle of arousal low in his stomach as he watched Wilson lazily kick his feet back and forth, humming softly. House could just barely hear him over the whine of the air conditioner.</p>
<p>“Thought you were bringing water,” the oncologist called, sounding entirely too mentally put together for House’s liking – especially given that his heart was still pounding and his breathing was still a little shaky as he made his way back into the living room. </p>
<p>Dark eyes peered up at him through messy hair, pretty lips curving in a teasing smile. And Christ, how did Jimmy do it? How did he manage to be that stupidly <em>hot</em>. He should have looked ridiculous – in his undone shirt and nothing else, legs thrown carelessly over a cum-splattered sofa arm, dick soft against his hip. And yeah . . . okay, so House was fucked. Figuratively, just then – but he had plans for that later.</p>
<p>“Did you go to the spring’s source for it?”</p>
<p>“How can you bitch at me after <em>that</em>,” he mock pouted, throwing the bottle at Wilson, the other just managing to catch it before it collided with his chest. House threw himself down on the sofa and leaned back into the cushions. He fought the urge to card his fingers through the younger doctor’s hair, which was close to his thigh – dangerously close, looking dangerously soft and touchable.</p>
<p>Wilson chuckled, a hand curled over the back of the sofa as the younger pulled himself upward, other hand undoing the cap deftly. He gulped at the liquid, swallowing loudly. House definitely wasn’t paying attention to that as he perched his feet up on the coffee table’s edge, absentmindedly rubbing his wrecked thigh even though there was a decided lack of pain.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the younger hummed, twisting to tip the bottle of water toward House in an offer to share, but House waved him away.</p>
<p>“Nah. That’s for you.” But also, it was for House . . . just, later.</p>
<p>Jimmy twisted on the sofa more fully, so he was sitting properly, his feet coming to rest on the edge of the coffee table next to his, knees bent. He pulled the opened ends of his shirt closed, as if that did anything for his modesty. “Well . . . that was, certainly an experience.” His knee knocked softly against House’s.</p>
<p>“Huh,” House started, letting his knee rest against Wilson’s. “<em>Jesus, you fucked my brains out </em>sounds different than I thought it would.” Which earned him a swat on his thigh.</p>
<p>“You’re an ass.”</p>
<p>“At least I’m not the one taking it.”</p>
<p>“That’s because you’ve got a little dick, remember.” Wilson had finished off his water, holding the empty bottle to his chest. “If <em>you </em>were the one taking it, you’d have to admit that I’m bigger.”</p>
<p>House snorted and reached over for a rough grope, making the younger yelp and twist, curling in on himself as if that would keep House from following him.</p>
<p>“Yeah, real nice Jimmy,” he snarked, his chest pressing against the curve of Wilson’s back as he mouthed at the younger’s neck, his hand still firmly between the other’s legs, fondling Wilson’s slowly hardening cock. And he had to give it to Jimmy – for being thirty-something, he had the refractory period of a damn teenager . . . which probably explained why he had seemingly stuck his dick in everything that asked him to. “Make fun of the cripple.”</p>
<p>Wilson turned his head, lips splitting in a teasing smile once more before bumping his nose to House’s, slotting their lips together for a breathy kiss. Teeth closed over his bottom lip, rolling the flesh before Wilson licked along it, sucking it into his mouth in that way that always made House moan.</p>
<p>Maybe he should have taken Jimmy up on some of that water.</p>
<p>Especially what with the other kissing him, turning toward House, climbing up in his lap. <em>Christ</em>. He slid his palms along Wilson’s side, his back while pulling him closer as Wilson rocked lazily against him. That was definitely a hardening cock pressing against his stomach. And Wilson was still kissing him, a languid and somehow filthy kiss that seemed to reach into his lungs and suck out all his air. A tongue tangled with his as Wilson’s hands slid into his hair, tilting House’s head back to deepen a kiss that he was fairly certain couldn’t get deeper.</p>
<p>He definitely didn’t whine when Wilson pulled back. Nope. Regardless of what that smug look on the other’s face said.</p>
<p>“You’re in a mood tonight.”</p>
<p>“I’m not the one climbing into people’s laps.” House let his head fall back against the sofa, almost smiling up at the other. Not quite though. After all, he had a reputation to uphold and it wouldn’t do for Wilson to think that he was going soft.</p>
<p>“What’s that saying about gift horses and mouths?” Wilson leaned back on his knees, his thighs flexing and holding his weight to keep the pressure off House’s wrecked leg. He tapped at his bottom lip in faux thought, head tipping to the side just barely.</p>
<p>House pushed his hands up Jimmy’s thighs, his palms cataloging the light dusting of hair, the hard muscle under soft skin, the harder bone under a thin layer of fat. He swallowed back the urge to say something stupid, because suddenly there were three <em>ridiculous </em>words pooling in his mouth. So instead he doubled the word count and blurted it out.</p>
<p>“I want you to fuck me.”</p>
<p>Totally worth it for the opportunity to see the dumbfounded look on Wilson’s stupid face.</p>
<p>“What.”</p>
<p>“On the floor.”</p>
<p>Wilson pushed a hand through his hair and sighed, making like he was going to climb off House’s lap. House knotted a hand in the opened front of Wilson’s shirt, keeping him in place and earning him another sigh.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you a little old for that?”</p>
<p>He scoffed, pinching the hinted-at padding of fat at Jimmy’s hip – knowing the younger hated it, but House secretly loved it. Wilson was made for the softening of those five or so extra pounds, his frame perfect for it – to be slow slopes and lines rather than sharply defined cuts of muscle and bone. It was sexy, and House let his fingers curl around barely-grippable love handles.</p>
<p>“It’s my thigh that’s fucked up, not my knees. Oh wait.”</p>
<p>“So . . . the first logical thought you have regarding a lack of pain is to fuck on all the vaguely flat surfaces. Of course,” Wilson deadpanned, a brow raising in an almost-question.</p>
<p>“Are you complaining about the plan,” he mocked, eyebrows drifting upward. “Is the famous James Panty-Peeler Wilson turning down sex?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m just asking what’s wrong with the bed,” Wilson huffed out, leaning forward to slide his lips wetly along House’s jaw – just a hint of teeth and tongue that made House tilt his head back with a hum.</p>
<p>“Gonna let me tie you to the bed with one of those nice silk neckties of yours?” Which that was definitely happening, because the idea of Wilson’s wrists knotted together with thick silk and stretched over his head was a fantasy too hot to pass up. And with his leg being practically functional, House was pretty sure he would be able to almost bend Jimmy in half and fuck him like something possessed.</p>
<p>“Those ties are <em>expensive,</em> House,” Wilson breathed damply against the thin skin of his throat, teeth scraping lightly over his Adam’s apple, a tongue licking after. Opened-mouth kisses sucked down his throat, and House groaned, fingers knotting in Wilson’s hair encouragingly.</p>
<p>It was too early for him to get hard again <em>– really should have taken Jimmy up on water offer</em> – but House could feel the heady, slow burn of arousal flooding his veins. Soon enough he’d be ready for round two; just had to follow doctor’s orders for a languid make-out session on the couch with an amorous, attractive younger man. And Wilson was good for it – <em>Jesus</em> he was good. Perfect really. <em>How the fuck had all those women had and lost him?</em> He groaned, deep in his chest, as that mouth continued its slow exploration. <em>Christ </em>he was good. The right amount of teeth, sharp and fantastic; the optimal slide of tongue, slick and hot; the ideal suction, hard and just the right side of bruising.</p>
<p>A phone skittered across the coffee table, buzzing and chiming obnoxiously.</p>
<p>Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, Wilson’s head jerked around. It was <em>his</em> phone – House could tell by the ringtone – and already the oncologist was making to scramble off House’s lap. House petulantly tightened his hold in Wilson’s dark hair, fingers knotting sharply in warning.</p>
<p>“You’re off the clock,” he ground out. He really didn’t like sharing.</p>
<p>“House.” He didn’t need to open his eyes to see the irritated look Wilson was giving him. Some days, he lived for that look. House slid his palm along the slats of the younger doctor’s ribs and tried to ignore the fact that the mood had been broken, that the hard dick pressing against his stomach was softening quicker than it had hardened.</p>
<p>“Wilson.”</p>
<p>The phone fell silent for all of about ten seconds before it resumed the obnoxious buzzing and chiming. And left him with a lapful of squirming Jimmy. House sighed and practically shoved the oncologist off his lap, arms crossing over his chest. He could only hear Wilson’s side of the conversation, but House had a pretty good idea of where the evening was going.</p>
<p>“Doctor Wilson.” A beat. “Yes . . . I see.” A deep sigh. “But you’ve stabilized her.” An anxious hand pushed through dark hair in an attempt to smooth the strands back into place. “Right.” A heavy sigh. “Increase her O2 saturation to ninety-eight. Morphine to three milligrams.” And Wilson was stepping into his pants, boxers still on the floor. “Right. I’ll be there in fifteen.” House was a little impressed that Wilson had managed to not only get his pants on but also to do up his fly one-handed – not that he would let Jimmy know that.</p>
<p>“Commando, huh,” House teased, kicking his feet up and reclining on the couch with an exaggerated groan. He reached for the remote – needing some trashy television to erase the younger man from his thoughts. Maybe that Spanish soap opera would be on.</p>
<p>“Why bother with underwear when I’m just going to come home and fuck you across the floor.”</p>
<p>Wilson’s tone held a teasing lilt, but his words still punched into House. His heart hammered against his breastbone as House watched Wilson calmly do up the buttons of his shirt, roll his cuffs in a way that he shouldn’t have found so damn hot but did – always did. Again, not something he was about to tell Boy Wonder. Fisted hands rested on Wilson’s hips as the oncologist huffed out a breath. And Jimmy was just trying to pull out all the stops, wasn’t he. House hated how much the other affected him, how stupidly attractive he was – looking like Wilson was about to run off and save the fucking world when all House wanted was to just pull him back on the couch.</p>
<p>“Want me to pick up Chinese,” Wilson asked as he stepped into his shoes, but House waved him away. They both knew that Wilson would be staying at the hospital for the foreseeable future, that it’d be late when he made it back – if he made it back at all.</p>
<p>“Nah. I’ll order pizza.”</p>
<p>“Want me to leave you some money?”</p>
<p>“Nope. Got your card memorized.”</p>
<p>A soft chuckle, and then a surprisingly tender kiss against his temple. “Of course you do,” Wilson murmured against his skin and then he was gone, door clicking behind him.</p>
<p>House groaned and rolled over to smoosh his face against the couch’s back, muffling his screamed-out <em>fuck</em>. Who was he kidding – he was already falling, wasn’t he. He really should have let the younger man move out – shouldn’t have been so <em>greedy</em> but it was <em>hard</em>. Damn Wilson with his stupid attractive face and perfect ass and desire to save all his hopeless cue-ball patients and bastardly sass.</p>
<p>He shoved himself off the couch and wandered into the bedroom, throwing himself down on the bed and burying his face in the sheets that smelled like them. His heart twisted.</p>
<p>Of course – Wilson didn’t make it back. And when House wandered into Princeton-Plainsboro sometime about midmorning, Jimmy’s office was his first stop. He threw the door open dramatically and stepped in, taking in the tired slump of shoulders, hair in finger-combed disarray, smudges of a sleepless night under impossibly dark eyes. Wilson had managed to find a tie – the bastard probably had one or two stashed in his desk – but its knot was haphazard and loose.</p>
<p>“Good thing I wasn’t holding out for chow mein,” he grumped. Which roughly translated into <em>I’m sorry</em>, because there was only one reason why Wilson wouldn’t have come home – his patient had died. They <em>always</em> died, didn’t they. But Wilson still threw himself into each case, each prognosis, each treatment, each <em>patient</em>. He knew names and birthdays and stupid things like favorite colors and sports. And House hated just how easy that fact made it to fall just a little harder.</p>
<p>A huffed-out chuckle reached him, followed by a heavy swallow. “Yeah. Probably.”</p>
<p>“You look like shit.” Which was a lie – House didn’t actually know if it was possible for Wilson to look like shit. He looked tired and worn-down and his eyes had taken on a sad, kicked-puppy look. But Wilson wore that exhaustion attractively – the bastard.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Probably,” Wilson ceded as his hands pushed through dark hair, smoothing it marginally into place before deft fingers undid the knot of Wilson’s tie. House watched the oncologist fuss with the ends, going about tying the heavy silk into a perfect double Windsor knot, fiddling with the knot until it sat snugly at the hollow of his throat. And House hadn’t really known that tying a tie with muscle memory alone, no damn mirror in sight, could have been so fucking hot.</p>
<p>Wilson was showing him all the fucked-up kinks he had.</p>
<p>The younger doctor got to his feet, gesturing toward the door. “Coffee?”</p>
<p>“Only if you’re buying.”</p>
<p>There was a broad palm briefly against his lower back as Wilson eased him toward the door, gone as quickly as it came the moment they stepped through the threshold.</p>
<p>House gave the other a side glance as they headed for the cafeteria – because he wasn’t quite sure how Wilson did it. How he pieced himself together so thoroughly after a night probably – <em>definitely</em> – spent holding a dying lady’s hand, giving off nothing but the air of a competent department head, an excellent doctor, a compassionate person.</p>
<p>“You’re a witch,” he finally concluded as they gathered their coffees, taking a little pride in those soft lips curving upward slightly.</p>
<p>“Did the curse finally kick in?” Wilson handed money over to the cashier without being told a total. They’d been buying the same order for so long, he just <em>knew</em>. “Started losing your hair? Gained some weight? Maybe dropped your keys down a sewer?” The cashier stifled a laugh behind their backs as they left the line.</p>
<p>He scoffed loudly. “Joke’s on you – bad luck is my <em>jam</em>.”</p>
<p>“Damn,” Wilson teased, as he headed for the cancer ward. And House definitely didn’t watch him go, definitely wasn’t already counting the hours until their shifts ended. Wilson turned the corner, and House pushed his way into the office – where he definitely did not plan on popping a Viagra or two.</p>
<p>“I’m going to pretend to work; don’t bug me,” he grumped to the children as he entered and dropped down into his office chair. Which lasted all of about ten seconds, before Foreman was tossing a few files on his desktop.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well. Unfortunately, Cuddy seems to think you should actually do your job to keep justifying your paycheck,” he quipped. “You need at least one.”</p>
<p>House groaned. “Ugh!” He let his head fall back in exasperation. “Yes, mom.”</p>
<p>Of course – three rather uninteresting cases later, House found himself in Coma Guy’s room, kicked back in the visitor chair and spooning tasteless red Jell-O into his mouth. He was courteous enough to turn the TV down while he watched his soap, because it wouldn’t do for the man to wake up. Nope, because then he would have to find a new place to hide.</p>
<p>“What’re you doing.”</p>
<p><em>Damn. </em>Huffing a sigh, House craned his head around to look at Wilson. Honestly, the man shouldn’t have the right to look that hot, what with his hands casually shoved in his pockets, pushing the white coat back from his hips and giving House a defined look at those thighs. Even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t detract from him, somehow softening the lines of his silhouette. His heart did something complicated behind the bones of his chest, but House swallowed it down.</p>
<p>“Want his chips?” He held up the bag in offer.</p>
<p>Wilson gave him an almost-smile, dropping down into the other chair. House tossed him the yellow bag and firmly fixed his attention on the TV. The bag breathed open. He was too aware of the other man.</p>
<p>“What does Enrique think he’s doing!” A crunch.</p>
<p>“I know,” House muttered – watching as the doctor on-screen bypassed the rather blatant seduction attempt of a busty nurse. “I was sure they’d be fucking by the end of Season 3.” The on-screen doctor was touching the arm of the patient – an attractive man who bore a startling resemblance to the doctor to his left – in what could be considered an affectionate gesture.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>House abruptly turned the TV off as the on-screen doctor leaned in, a kiss inevitable. Earning him a look from Wilson, who lifted his eyebrows in question. But House just shoved himself up and headed for the door of the room.</p>
<p>“You owe me chow mein,” he groused before stepping out the door and heading for his office. He definitely wasn’t hiding from Wilson. Nope. House could hole himself up in Exam Room 4 until it was time for him to leave – not like Cuddy expected him to stay the whole time anyway.</p>
<p>Somehow, he managed to avoid being alone with the oncologist until he was able to sneak home a whole two hours early.</p>
<p>Surprisingly enough, Wilson managed to get home right on time for once. He dropped the bag of takeout on the coffee table as his other hand tugged the knot of his tie free. “Your chow mein, my lord,” the younger man snarked, toing off his shoes and padding into the kitchen. And how was House supposed to do anything but watch him go, cutting his gaze back to the TV as Wilson returned. The oncologist thumped a beer down next to the takeout containers and ran a hand tiredly through his hair.</p>
<p>“I’m going to bed, House. Try not to need anything from me.”</p>
<p>And when had House’s bed become Wilson’s, as he watched the younger man trail off down the hallway. He picked his way aimlessly through his noodles, thinking about Wilson in his bed. Sure, they used his bed for the sex – but that was practical; couldn’t go around fucking on couches all the time, not at their age. But how long had the younger man been sleeping there, been crawling in after House and bearing his scent down into House’s sheets. And why hadn’t he noticed. Or cared.</p>
<p>When House finally made for the bedroom, he found himself in the doorway of it . . . just staring at Wilson there in bed. The blankets had slipped down from his bare chest, and of course he was on the left side of the bed – somehow knowing that House preferred the right. Something heavy coiled in his chest as he dropped his jeans and climbed into bed in just boxers and his tee – the motion of it seemingly stirring up the scent of Jimmy, and his guts cramped at that. He swallowed hard as he settled, watching the younger man sleep – because sleep did smooth out that permanent tension in the lines of that pretty face, and the heavy breathing was a lulling sound, and there was a stupid, <em>stupid</em> thought about leaning forward to brush a kiss across those lovely lips, of bundling the younger man to his chest.</p>
<p>Instead, House rolled over with a huff and hugged the edge of the mattress, forcing his eyes closed.</p>
<p>House waited all of two days for Wilson to mention the whole fucking-him-across-the-floor thing. He sat jitterily through shared meals, waiting for the oncologist to approach the subject. Which, of course, Wilson didn’t. Instead, <em>infuriatingly</em>, Wilson asked about his lack of cases and commented on hospital gossip and pointed out Cuddy’s scandalous necklines.</p>
<p>He could admit that the conversation wasn’t really one that could be reached from any other kind of conversation – it was something that needed to be mentioned outright, casually. But if he just blurted it out, Wilson would know how much he wanted it. Because as it was, he was pretty much gagging for it. He wanted Wilson’s hot weight along his back, forehead pressed between his shoulders and that dick crammed way down in his guts. He wanted the rough and dirty, animalistic fucking he knew Jimmy was fully capable of delivering.</p>
<p>But he couldn’t just <em>say that</em> – because where was the fun in that. There was none. No – it needed to be something he broke Wilson down to.</p>
<p>Which was exactly how he found himself naked on the living room floor, having snuck out during his supposed clinic hours. His knees spread on the cushions as House reached behind himself with a slick fingertip, rubbing fingers down his cleft before circling his entrance. He pulled them away and stroked himself idly, feeling his cock begin to harden against the smooth-slick slide of his hand before House reached behind himself again, pressing a finger as deep as he was able with a punched-out noise.</p>
<p>Muscles clamped and clenched around the digit, his hips lifting to pull it deeper. House bent his spine impossibly, finger pressing deeper, but he could only hold that curve so long. Head hanging down, he panted as he worked himself open. The thought that beyond that initial breach his muscles would still be tight, would still clench around Wilson’s dick like a vise, sent arousal – hot and burning – rushing through him.</p>
<p>And Jimmy’s dick was definitely the kind that needed <em>at</em> <em>least</em> three fingers and fifteen to twenty minutes of preparation, not to mention ample lube.</p>
<p>As it was, House couldn’t say for sure how long he’d been on the floor – thankful for the pillows under his knees because hardwood was a bitch – but he <em>had </em>managed to get up to two fingers. The angle was wrong for it, for fucking himself open, because he couldn’t get deep enough. Even twisted to the side, he was only managing to get up to the second knuckle, but the drag of that touch against his rim was particularly lovely. And he may or may not have been praying to whatever fucked up God there might or might not have been that Wilson didn’t take his time with the paperwork. That the oncologist brought his ass home right after his shift. His dick twitched at that thought as he screwed his fingers in further. </p>
<p>There was the sound of a key in lock, and anxiety struck him. Because he was naked, on the floor on his hands and knees, with his ass to the door and two fingers firmly lodged in said ass. And while Wilson never just brought people over, there was always a first time for everything wasn’t there. And wouldn’t <em>that</em> just be his luck. He swallowed hard as the door breathed open behind him.</p>
<p>“What,” Wilson started, trailing off to suck in a deep breath as the door clicked shut behind him. “House, what’re you doing.”</p>
<p>“Thought it was pretty obvious,” he panted out, spreading his fingers as he pulled them out, catching at his rim before pressing them in again in what he hoped was a blatant tease. Behind him, he could hear Wilson hum before expensive shoes strode heavily across the floor. The younger man came into view, toeing his shoes and socks off, letting his briefcase drop into a dining room chair. Deft fingers undid the knot of his tie, the heavy silk pooling on the kitchen table.</p>
<p>“You’re a brat, you know,” Wilson muttered, turning to face him as he slid his hands into pockets, gaze trailing hungrily along House’s bent form.</p>
<p>“Nuhuh,” House panted out petulantly, screwing in a third finger – which drew a whine out of him as his body clenched along the intrusion. It also seemingly pulled Wilson closer, as the oncologist took a few steps forward. For a moment, he thought fingers would pull along his spine, but the younger man just dropped down on the edge of the couch – in full view of House’s fingers pressing into his hole, his cock twitching between spread thighs. Capable hands dangled between spread knees as Jimmy leaned forward, elbows on thighs, and peered at him curiously.</p>
<p>There was a beat of silence, an almost-smile tugging at Jimmy’s lips. “Alright.” The younger man leaned back, and raised an eyebrow, a hand gesturing vaguely in his general direction. “So, you just decided to finger yourself open – ass facing the door – for no reason. Sure. Makes sense.”</p>
<p>He gasped out some sort of noise that could have been taken as affirmative, fingers jerking forward at those words. House’s eyes screwed shut.</p>
<p>“So, you weren’t hoping to get any sort of rise out of me, clearly.”</p>
<p>House shook his head negatively, pressing his fingers in as deep as the curve of his spine and the jut of his hips would allow, curling as he went. He pulled the digits free with an obscene sound, wincing as it seemed to echo in the quiet of the sitting room. Wilson arched a brow in his direction, head cocking just barely to the side.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say stop,” Wilson intoned lightly, working his belt open rather nonchalantly. The expensive leather hissed as it slipped through belt-loops, the coils of it thumping heavily down on the sofa. And House probably shouldn’t have salivated at that sound. “In fact, I think you can take another,” the younger man breathed out, slowly undoing his fly and pushing his slacks down his thighs.</p>
<p>His pulse thumped in his ears as he watched Wilson palm himself through his boxers, fingertips pressing through the button-fly to stroke idly along soft skin. House’s breath caught in his throat as Wilson turned an expectant gaze on him, eyebrows lifting just slightly. House could see the soft jut of the other’s hardening cock through thin fabric, and he hurried to press in all four fingers with a choked-out whine. The stretch made his cock ache, hips jerking forward before jutting back in an attempt to get fingers deeper. His thumb pressed sharply against his perineum, rubbing along taunt skin. House’s head fell forward with a groan as his hips rocked back against the deliciously sharp stretch of his rim, knuckles pressing firmly against that fluttering muscle.</p>
<p>Swallowing heavily, his throat clicking, House sucked in a deep breath and canted his head to regard the younger man more thoroughly – watching as Wilson stroked himself through his boxers, looking some sort of combination of amused and aroused. “Like what you see, Jimmy?”</p>
<p>“Angle’s wrong for it,” Wilson retorted, pushing his boxers down – cock springing free so fingertips could drag along the curve of it. House’s dick jerked, throbbing headily between his thighs. His breath caught pitifully under his ribs as Wilson’s hand curled along his length in the ghost of a touch, dry palm rasping softly as he stroked himself lazily, fingers squeezing around the base every few downward strokes and thumb rubbing against the head on every twisting upstroke. The deft twist of Wilson’s wrist nearly dragged a whimper from House.</p>
<p>“It’s perfect for it,” he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut. House pressed his fingers as deep as he was able, withdrawing his pinky and ring finger to better spread his index and middle fingers.</p>
<p>Wilson snorted. “Yeah. For about two inches. What about the others, House.” Some sort of . . . pathetic noise punched out of him at that. House swallowed hard, trying to screw his fingers deeper and getting a twinge in his wrist for his troubles as arousal pooled in his stomach. “Or is that what you want.”</p>
<p>“Right,” House panted out, feeling a quiver take up in his limbs at those words. “Just want you to cram that big dick of yours where the sun don’t shine with hardly any prep, Jimmy.” He scoffed in an attempt at ignoring the wave of <em>want</em> he felt boiling in his guts at those words.</p>
<p>Silence drew in around them – leaving them with just the backdrop noises of Wilson’s palm slowly pulling along his cock and the obscene squelch of his fingers in his ass. House sucked in deep breaths, focusing on the way his fingers felt and not the way Wilson was staring at him – that bastard was probably picking his actions apart. Incorrectly, of course.</p>
<p>“. . . that’s it, isn’t it, Greg.” He could hear the edge of an almost wolfish smile with too many teeth in that low tone. “You want me to wreck you.”</p>
<p>House jerked his head around to glare at Wilson, but whatever half-assed lie he’d had on the tip of his tongue withered away at the almost hungry look Jimmy was giving him – dark eyes glimmering as they pinned him in place. Damn Wilson – they’d been friends too long; the younger man knew too much; Wilson <em>saw</em> him. And when had that happened. His throat clicked drily.</p>
<p>He scoffed, rolling his entire face. “Yeah – big fan of pain, me. What gave it away? The Vicodin abuse?”</p>
<p>Jimmy lifted his hands in submission, giving House a clear view of his dick – probably on purpose, that bastard. The length and width of it making something curl hungrily in his guts, his mouth aching at the thought of the heft of it. Wilson was <em>always </em>so tender with him, and the thought of the other man <em>wrecking him</em> – as Jimmy had suggested – was a very real possibility. And that possibility was hotter than it had any right being.</p>
<p>“Hey. Far be it for me to kink shame.”</p>
<p>And House flushed at that. But whatever acerbic retort he had managed to think of, dried up as Wilson got up off the couch, his slacks and boxers thumping softly against the floor. The younger man stepped out of them and made his way over to House, fingers slowly working at the buttons of his shirt. And House . . . well House tried not to watch that lovely cock bob heavily with each step. <em>Damn Jimmy</em> for showing him just another fucked-up kink.</p>
<p>He pulled his fingers free of his hole – having forgotten they were lodged there in the first place – and tried not to flinch as Wilson dropped to his knees behind him. House could hear the soft rustle of fabric pooling on the floor, presumably as Jimmy lost the shirt. Then there was a warm hand sliding along his spine as Wilson hummed thoughtfully. House’s spine curved inward under that touch, hips lifting.</p>
<p>“I kind of thought you were kidding about the whole floor thing,” Jimmy said, leaning forward to press a hand between House’s shoulder blades, pushing down on him until House’s elbows bent under the pressure. The implication of that touch, the dominance of it made his chest tight. And he could feel Wilson’s brand-hot length smear precum along his inner thigh, that lovely cock jumping at the contact and making his own bob and leak eagerly. That broad hand stilled along his lower back, the thumb stroking along his skin lightly.</p>
<p>“Pfft,” House scoffed, spreading his legs further in an entreaty his mouth would rather not utter. “I don’t joke about sex.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>The click of the lube bottle, somehow, seemed impossibly obscener than everything that had occurred before that moment. His eyes squinted shut as he listened to the slick slide of Wilson’s hand along his dick, and he focused on his breathing. Two fingers pressing into him startled a noise out of him, eyes opening in surprise at those digits sinking easily for – as Wilson had predicted – a couple inches, maybe three before having to press harder, fighting against clenching muscle for headway.</p>
<p>“You’re sure,” Wilson asked, sounding a little breathless as he pulled his fingers free, the lube sticky on his skin where the younger man gripped his hip. Ever the considerate lover, wanting House’s comfort before his own pleasure. “It’s going to hurt, House. You’re . . . uh, <em>Christ</em>, you’re pretty tight,” Wilson murmured against the skin of his back in between smeared kisses along his spine. And those words set him alight, not to mention the <em>want</em> in Jimmy’s tone made arousal coil under his skin.</p>
<p>“Will you just mount me,” he huffed out, pressing his hips back into Wilson’s groin, feeling that cock slide along his thigh. And Wilson shifted away from him, the heat of him disappearing from where it had hovered along the swell of his ass, the line of thighs. House squinted his eyes shut in disappointment.</p>
<p>“Can you <em>not</em> say it like that.” He could practically hear Wilson’s eyeroll.</p>
<p>House huffed, leaning forward to press his forehead against the floor, bracketed by his forearms, hands clenching into fists as he screwed his eyes shut. He lifted his ass further in the air, pushing more firmly into Wilson’s palm spread hotly on his lower back as he lifted his hips and offered his ass for sacrifice.</p>
<p>“What do you want me to call it,” House grumbled, which earned him a huff of laughter. That palm slid up along his back and pulled back down, pressing against his spine proprietorially. “Bedroom rodeo? Making the beast with two backs? What about rummaging in the root cellar?” He glanced over his shoulder petulantly and was surprised to see Wilson almost smiling at him fondly.</p>
<p>“I thought you liked dicking down?” He blinked stupidly at Wilson, who looked too amused for a man about to fuck him across the floor. House swallowed heavily, drawing in a sharp breath.</p>
<p>“I do . . . which is why I’m here, ass in the air, waiting for you to get to it,” House bit out, legs spreading a little more, hips sinking.</p>
<p>Wilson laughed breathlessly. “You are <em>such</em> a brat.”</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to say something, but Wilson’s slick cockhead was sliding along his cleft and he forgot how to make words. Letters jumbling together into sonances seemed pretty trivial as Wilson leaned forward, the glans of his lovely cock popping past House’s quivering rim in a way that choked breath from his lungs and had his eyes fluttering shut. The downward slide effectively ensured he wasn’t going to be making words anytime soon, let alone breathing. While House had managed to stretch the muscles some, it clearly hadn’t been enough because the shallow, rocking thrusts felt like earthquakes, tearing him apart until Jimmy finally bottomed out.</p>
<p>House’s mouth fell open soundlessly as the oncologist seemingly wedged that big dick in his guts, rocking to encourage stretch as Wilson made room for himself in House despite the vise-like grip of his body. The younger man ground his hips down against House’s ass as his chest pressed hotly against House’s back. Wet kisses smeared along his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Alright,” the oncologist breathed out. And how the <em>fuck</em> was Jimmy expecting him to make words with a monster dick feeling like stone lodged up his ass, his muscles clenching tightly around that length. The sharp pain-pleasure of it made his skin sing with arousal.</p>
<p>“House?” True to form, Wilson managed to ask about a million questions with just one – and House heard them all. <em>Are you okay; do you need a minute; is it too much; are you sure you want this? </em>When he didn’t respond, House realized Wilson had taken it for a negative reaction and was beginning to pull out, being infuriatingly careful.</p>
<p>He clutched at Jimmy’s hip, fingers digging into that peachy-perfect ass, and choked out one rather breathless word. A cracked-out entreaty of, “Move.”</p>
<p>Wilson made a soft noise behind him, pressing forward once more. House wagered he was tight enough around Jimmy’s cock that he could feel that hard length throb – or maybe that was just his own heartbeat. He leaned heavily on his forearms, pillowing his face with his hands as Wilson set a slow, rocking pace. It was reminiscent of their nights before – back when his leg had been fucked up – and decidedly not like the wrecking he had been promised.</p>
<p>House sucked in a deep breath before opening his mouth and saying, “Thought you were gonna wreck me, Jimmy.” And if his voice was a little breathless, holding a ragged edge, well that was expected.</p>
<p>“Brat,” Wilson bit out, leaning down to nip at House’s spine, driving his hips forward sharply. House’s breath left him in a rush, his body clamping down at the rough treatment. Wilson raised off his back, a broad hand curling along the nape of his neck, squeezing and forcing House down further in a way that made his hips lift on eons-old instinct to submit. His other hand spread along his skin, fingertips dug down into the tender flesh of House’s inner thigh, pulling his leg – the left, because Wilson somehow managed to be considerate even while fucking him like <em>that</em> – impossibly wider. There was something possessive about it, Wilson’s stance startingly like a predator’s victorious mantle as Jimmy fucked down into him deeply as though he <em>owned</em> House. And that thought sent a bolt of arousal into his guts, choked a needy noise from his lungs. And was it too late to film it?</p>
<p>Because <em>Christ</em> his hips were aching in the best possible way. It was turning into a whole-body affair, as his arms flexed to keep Wilson from driving House’s face into the floor, barely keeping him from kissing the floorboards. The pace was brutal as that thick cock slid in hard and deep, fighting for its place in his warmth as Jimmy’s length fucked him open mercilessly. Soft, choking whimpers were cracking out of his chest, squeezed out from between parted lips as Jimmy fucked into him, his back swaying to encourage it. His cock was jumping against his stomach, drooling precum as Wilson slid over his prostate repeatedly.</p>
<p>Jimmy changed his angle, pointedly ignoring his prostate in a way that managed to wring a whine of frustration from House’s lungs. The oncologist ploughed into him, curling over House’s back and pressing him down further as Wilson’s fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises, he was sure. And it felt a bit like being split open – in the best possible way, as Jimmy seemed bound and determined to lodge that pretty cock in the warmth of House’s throat. Every thrust desperate and hurried, chasing pleasure, and already his orgasm was sparking along his skin.</p>
<p>Only then did he become aware of the litany of words tumbling from his parted lips, sounding an awful lot like <em>Jimmy</em> strewn through broken whimpers. Wilson’s mouth was firmly pressed to his spine, lips busted open, and breath hot and damp along his skin; the hard edge of his teeth scraped along House’s spine brightly. The slap of sweat-slick skin did nothing but wind House up tighter. The hand on his neck shifted downward to clutch at his hip, tugging him back into the pound of Jimmy’s hips.</p>
<p>The broad hand dug down into his leg moved to curl around his cock instead, and House might have sobbed – the grip loose, just holding his erection. Not that it mattered, because every thrust had his hips shifting downward, fucking into Wilson’s barely-there touch only for the younger man to tug his hips back into each thrust. The push-pull drag of it managed to balance him on the edge of orgasm, all his muscles winding up tightly with heavily pooling pleasure.</p>
<p>Then a few things happened at once. Wilson’s angle shifted, ploughing that lovely cock devastatingly across his prostate over and over. And his grip tightened around House’s cock, wrist twisting as a thumbnail pulled along his weeping slit, the ridge of his glans and fingers squeezed. And there was the bright, sweet hurt of teeth digging down into the muscle of his back. All of which conspired together to drag his orgasm from him rather aggressively, body clenching along Wilson’s perfect dick as he came with a shout – cock throbbing as he striped the ugly couch pillows with cum.</p>
<p>House whimpered as Wilson continued to work his cock, continued to plough into him – chasing his own pleasure in House’s rapidly sensitizing body. His muscles clenched as the younger man laid along his back, fucking down into House with breathy pants along his skin. The hand around his hip spread on the floor by House’s shoulder for balance as Wilson thrust down – <em>impossibly</em> – harder. Deft fingers squeezed and stroked his cock, encouraging it to stay hard even as pleasure took on a sharp edge. Soft noises choked out of House, his hips tipping up so Wilson could drive in deeper.</p>
<p>The second orgasm – a dry one that barbed deep down sweetly-sharp in his loins and clotted in his throat – was unexpected. It choked a keening moan from his chest, his body clenching down hard around Wilson’s length. And then the younger man was pressing in deep, rocking his hips to House’s as he came, teeth scraping along House’s skin as Jimmy groaned. House swore he felt the flex of Wilson’s cock as he painted House’s insides white.</p>
<p>Wilson laid along House’s back, smearing kisses lazily along his skin. House could feel that still-hard length wedged in deep, knowing it would take a few moments for the tissues to soften. And House really didn’t want to feel that big dick drag along his over-sensitized rim as Wilson pulled out. His legs were shaking, and he pressed his forehead to the floor, feeling the delicious ache in his arms as the muscles finally relaxed.</p>
<p>“Christ,” he panted out, hiding his face in his upturned palms. His heart was thundering in his chest.</p>
<p>“Did you cum twice,” Wilson finally asked, nosing at House’s spine before slipping out.</p>
<p>House really couldn’t keep the breathy noise in at that feeling – his body fucked-open and well-used. He collapsed on his side, relishing in the ache that spread along his body. Closing his eyes, House weighed the pros and cons of telling Wilson the truth, but decided that everybody lies, and in the end said, “No.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, Jimmy sprawled out on his back, looking blissed-out and relaxed. “Liar,” the younger man breathed. Turning his head, Wilson looked at him with dark, glittering eyes. “Was that good?”</p>
<p>Which, <em>good</em> didn’t begin to cover it – House’s heart still thumping loudly and his breathing rasping through his lips. Good was such an inadequate word to describe <em>that</em>. But House decided that was another thing he’d never admit to Wilson, as he rolled over onto his knees and shakily got to his feet.</p>
<p>“I have new respect for your wives.” House winced as his hips ached.</p>
<p>Wilson rolled his eyes. That fond almost-smile tugged at his lips though. “Not their style.”</p>
<p>“Their loss,” he quipped. “And you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” Wilson’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, mouth opening to retort, but House merely turned his back on the younger man and headed down the hall. “Your dick isn’t coming anywhere near my ass for a few days,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the bedroom.</p>
<p>He threw himself down on the bed and groaned, stretching his legs languidly as House nosed at the sheets. He hurt in the best possible way – his joints leaden and heavy. And there did appear to be fingertips bruised into his thigh. And that may or may not – <em>definitely</em> had been – the best sex he’d ever had in his life. He wondered if he could convince the younger man to dick down like that more often – at least until the ketamine wore off, though he might have offered up a prayer to that possibly there, fucked up God that the treatment didn’t wear off. That he could be fucked like that on the reg.</p>
<p>In the morning that delicious ache had turned into something darker – his hips hurting something fierce. House’s limbs quivered as he showered, as he dressed. And he was walking with a definitive limp. Not to mention, House doubted he’d be able to sit without maybe squirming, without probably whimpering, and without definitely getting a chub.</p>
<p>Damn Jimmy and his magic dick.</p>
<p>And to add insult to injury, House had to walk past the main reception desk to get to the elevators and wasn’t it just his luck that Wilson and Cuddy were standing there, chatting. Cuddy was tapping a finger against a file case while Wilson scribbled on a tab. He crossed his fingers that they wouldn’t notice him as he limped past.</p>
<p>“House,” Cuddy called, her heels clicking brightly as she hurried after him.</p>
<p>“Can’t chat – terribly busy,” he lied, pushing the up button for the elevator. And she caught him while he waited impatiently for the doors to open.</p>
<p>“You <em>need </em>a case,” she told him sharply, pushing the file against his side.</p>
<p>“When you bring me an interesting one, I'll take it.”</p>
<p>“No. You <em>will</em> take a case. <em>This </em>one.” Cuddy continued to push the file against him, and House continued to ignore it. “The Board is meeting today, and how am I supposed to justify the cost of a diagnostics department that <em>doesn’t</em> take cases?”</p>
<p>“I <em>do</em> take cases,” House grumbled as the elevator doors opened and people flooded out around them. He pushed his way in, turning back to her as he settled against the back of the elevator. “Interesting ones.”</p>
<p>Cuddy glared at him, holding the neglected file to her chest. He gave her a sharp almost-smile as the doors slid shut. And only then did he notice Wilson standing beside him. House internally swore and wondered if it was too late for him to go back out into the lobby and see whatever drivel Cuddy had deemed suitable for him and his team. Anything to avoid that smug bastard.</p>
<p>“Rough night,” Wilson asked, tone stupidly polite and innocuous as he rocked on slightly on expensive shoes. The conversation was definitely edged, but not something the other people in the elevator would pay attention to.</p>
<p>“Hmm.” He kept his attention firmly on the seam of the elevator doors. The elevator slowed to a stop, letting three people off and one on. “Had my guts rearranged.” Which could have meant something as simple as a night spent with an upset stomach, but they both knew actually referred to House having spent a rather sizeable amount of the night stuffed with Wilson’s dick.</p>
<p>“Sounds terrible,” Wilson said, and House could <em>hear </em>the smugness in his voice, could see it at the edges of the oncologist’s almost-smile. House hated him – only not really.</p>
<p>“I’ll walk it off,” he grumbled, pushing past people as the elevator door dinged open on their floor, mentally cursing the fact that Wilson’s office was in the same direction as his. House was certain the other man could see the hitch in his step, and he mentally swore. Behind him, House swore he heard Wilson chuckle softly. He pushed into his office, suddenly desperate to avoid the younger man.</p>
<p>He had planned on only withholding sex for a night, maybe two – depending on how his ass felt after work – but that plan quickly went out the window. Spite was an interesting thing, and House wasn’t exactly sure if he was spiting Jimmy . . . or himself as two nights <em>at the most</em> became four. He tried not to notice how difficult it was to get to sleep without the oncologist in his bed, and instead mentally promised them both a spectacular reunion that he was still working out in his head.</p>
<p>So, by the time Friday rolled around, if House had perhaps <em>bribed </em>Cuddy with the promise of actually, maybe, doing his clinic hours in order for him and Wilson <em>both</em> to have the weekend off – well, no one had to know.</p>
<p>Just like if he had crushed 100mg of little blue pill in Wilson’s afternoon coffee, what would it hurt. Wilson had given him a confused look, eying the to-go cup warily before muttering thanks and going back to his paperwork. And House had watched him through the blinds between their offices as the other had absentmindedly sipped at the drink.</p>
<p>It probably wasn’t a good idea to mix caffeine with sildenafil, especially given that they both caused expanded blood vessels and increased heartrate, but House had it on good authority – namely, the oncologist’s medical charts – that Wilson’s heart was perfectly fine. It could take a little abuse. Besides, it would take roughly four hours for the drug to sink its hooks into strait-laced Jimmy. Four hours until that pretty man was essentially begging to fuck him.</p>
<p>Four hours until they were home . . .</p>
<p>What he hadn’t expected though was for Wilson to take himself to the kitchen once they got home, toing off his shoes while he undid his tie and rolled his cuffs. In fact, House had watched as the oncologist chopped and sautéed chicken breast, while he steamed broccoli and sliced tomatoes, as he boiled orzo – all ingredients that House knew for a fact he hadn’t bought, which meant that Wilson was being grossly domestic without being asked. And that thought made his heart pound.</p>
<p>Prowling closer, House pressed the slighter man to the counter edge, watching as Wilson added everything to the orzo, stirring idly.</p>
<p>“Can I help you,” the younger doctor asked in a low tone that suggested he wasn’t really giving House his full attention – which only made House press closer, nosing at Wilson’s neck. And how could Wilson still smell so good. After almost ten hours on his feet, how could the sweet-musk scent of sweat mingle with the sandalwood-lavender smell of his bodywash and the cardamom-leather of his cologne, undercut by the sharp bitterness of antiseptic. And how could House find that smell so appealing. House pressed his nose to the other’s throat, inhaling.</p>
<p>He slid his hand into Wilson’s hair, tugging gently. “Smells good,” he ceded.</p>
<p>“Dinner or me,” Wilson huffed out with a chuckle.</p>
<p>“That sounded . . .” House drew back as if in thought. “Almost like you were offering to let me eat you.” He leered at the younger man as he pinched Wilson’s ass before he bracketed Wilson against the counter and gave a lazy rock of his hips.</p>
<p>“No,” Wilson said, tone sharp and brooking no argument. Which led House to believe the other made some embarrassing noises when being rimmed.</p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p>Wilson tried to squirm out from under him, pushing the pasta dish to the back of the stove. “No.”</p>
<p>“That’s no fun,” he teased, hands curling around Wilson’s hips as House pressed closer. His hips rocked. A hand slid downward to grab at a thigh, encouraging the young man’s legs to spread so he could press into the gap. He mouthed at Wilson’s neck as his fingers traced the inseam of Jimmy’s slacks, cupping the younger man through the starched fabric and rubbing. Wilson rocked into the touch, breath hitching as House crowed him further against the counter.</p>
<p>“You’re a doctor,” the younger man breathed out as a hand reached behind him to bury in House’s hair, the other spreading on the cheap countertop as his hips pressing back firmly against House’s erection. Jimmy did so like having his neck kissed, and House was more than happy to oblige. Especially when it resulted in Wilson rocking back against him. He pulled teeth down along the column of Wilson’s neck, following the younger man’s pulse to nearly suck a mark at the join. House left sucking kisses as he worked his way back up, nipping at Jimmy’s earlobe, breathing hotly over the shell, and earning himself a breathy moan.   </p>
<p>“You should <em>know</em> how incredibly unhygienic it is, House,” Wilson gasped, head tipping back as his hips ground back against House’s cock, tilting forward to bear down on House’s thigh and palm.</p>
<p>“So, you didn’t go down on any of the people you’ve bedded,” he teased, squeezing Jimmy’s dick a little more, pressing up and rubbing firmly.</p>
<p>Quite suddenly, Wilson had turned around in his grasp, his own arms crossed over his chest in an endearing, childish manner that House shouldn’t have found half as attractive as he did. His pretty mouth pursing into a pout, even if his cheeks were flushed with arousal and his eyes impossibly dark, pupils wide blown. “You know <em>damn well </em>that’s different.”</p>
<p>“Is it,” House breathed out, attention beginning to stray from the conversation as his hands slid slowly down Wilson’s sides, hands curling around his hips as he pressed the oncologist back further against the edge of the counter. The kitchen really wasn’t big enough for what he had in mind, but he could make do. He dipped his mouth to that long line of throat, teeth scraping against skin and lips soothing hurt.</p>
<p>Nails scraped along his scalp, the delicate skin beneath his lips thrumming with Wilson’s appreciative hum. House brought their hips together, sucking at the hollow of Wilson’s throat. He cupped the side of Wilson’s neck, feeling the thunder of his pulse as House pulled his mouth wetly upward. Wilson’s head tipped back accommodatingly, offering up more of that sensitive skin.</p>
<p>House nipped along Jimmy’s throat, pulling one of the younger doctor’s thighs to his hip. He dug his knee into the cabinetry as an anchor, to keep Wilson’s legs widespread. He rolled and rocked his hips downward, feeling the other’s cock harden quickly. Personally, House felt like he might cum in his pants a bit – hard and aching already at the novel position. He had so much more leverage like that, able to use all of his leg muscles – not to mention the two extra inches he had on Wilson in the height department – to really grind down into the vee of the younger man’s legs.</p>
<p>Wilson’s fingers tightened in his hair as some choked-out keening noise crawled out of his throat. The grip tugged, pulling House’s mouth away from the younger man’s throat. Jimmy’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes impossibly dark and glittering before the younger man leaned forward, nipping at House’s bottom lip before rolling it into Wilson’s mouth for a suck.</p>
<p>“Bed,” Wilson panted out from behind parted, bit-swollen lips as he pulled away – and honestly, how was House supposed to <em>not </em>kiss him.</p>
<p>Leaning forward, he slotted their lips together again – swallowing the needy sound that Wilson offered up, his lips parting at the pressure without any encouragement. House pressed closer, his hands sliding down from neat hips to grab that perfect ass as he groaned, pressing closer as his tongue tangled with Wilson’s. He pulled Jimmy further against him, grinding their erections together.</p>
<p>“No; here,” House bit out, pulling back. Wilson’s damp breath ghosted against his mouth, pulling him back in for another kiss. He slipped a hand between them to cup his palm along Jimmy’s covered erection, squeezing and rubbing. Wilson’s hands dropped to the counter on either side of him, hips jerking forward to press Jimmy’s dick more firmly into his touch.</p>
<p>“The bed is like fifty feet away,” Wilson choked out – the eyeroll implied despite the breathiness of his tone – as House let his leg slip down, already working at the fly of his jeans.</p>
<p>“But it’ll be so hot,” he whined petulantly, shoving his jeans and boxers down with little preamble. House kicked the fabric away before reaching to help Wilson with his when it became apparent the younger man wasn’t exactly sold on the idea, fly still done up and hands still braced on the counter edge behind him. Jimmy gave him an incredulous look, eyebrow raised, as House fumbled with his belt.</p>
<p>“We . . . well <em>I </em>cook here,” the oncologist stammered out, eyes wide as House made quick work of his fly. “That’s unhygienic. House!” But that quickly dissolved as House leaned forward to grind their hard cocks together as he finally got Wilson’s clothing out of the way.</p>
<p>The hot, heavy drag of it pulled a gasp from the younger man, his hips jerking forward. He dug fingers into the meat of Wilson’s ass, dragging the oncologist closer so he could grind filthily against that hard length. House reached between them and squeezed their dicks together. His hand definitely wasn’t big enough, but the ghost of a touch earned him a low groan from Wilson, his hips jerking forward and that flushed cockhead smearing precum along the cut of House’s hip.</p>
<p>“Aw, c’mon, Jimmy,” he breathed out along the other’s ear, hips rolling forward slowly as he squeezed. “Lemme have you here. Just slip you back on the counter and fuck up into you, yeah? So hot.” He received a whimper for his trouble, Wilson’s hips jerking forward as fingers curled in his shirt tightly. House could feel the heavy pant of the other’s breath at the hollow of his throat.</p>
<p>He slipped his hands down lower, cupping the seam where Wilson’s ass became thigh and squeezing. Leaning forward, House mouthed wetly along the curved line of Wilson’s throat, pressing him back into the counter further and sliding a thigh between the younger man’s legs. That hot cock slid up into the hollow of his groin, rutting briefly as House ground his own length against a flexing thigh.</p>
<p>“We don’t have any lube,” Jimmy gasped out, forehead falling to press against House’s chest. “And I am <em>not </em>letting you fuck me dry – little dick or not.”</p>
<p>House crowded Wilson further back against the edge of the counter, reaching for and snagging the bottle of olive oil. He dragged it to the edge of the countertop with a smirk. Wilson huffed out a laugh. “You have <em>got </em>to be kidding, House.”</p>
<p>“It’ll do in a pinch. Just wash off after,” House grumbled, biting at the hinge of Jimmy’s jaw before placing a sucking kiss against the supple give of skin. “Maybe we can have another go in the shower,” he breathed hotly against the curls of cartilage of the younger man’s ear.</p>
<p>“This is a terrible idea,” Wilson grumbled, but spread his legs – House helping lift him – as his hands curled along the counter edge and the younger man slipped backward.</p>
<p>Wilson’s knees dug into that tender place just under his ribs as he leaned back, head pressing lightly against the cabinet door and his torso a slightly curved line. Wilson’s dick had slipped between House’s stomach and his tee, the hard curve of it ghosting against his lower abdomen. Hunching forward, House pressed his stomach more firmly against that brand-hot length. The slick-slide of precum against his skin sparked arousal along his sensory system. He pulled Wilson toward him, concerned about discomfort in Wilson’s sacral vertebrae – though he would never admit it the younger man.</p>
<p>“It’s hot,” House countered, feeling Wilson’s knees tighten against his sides sharply as the younger man flexed. “Will you do the honors?” He tipped his hips upward, dick twitching impatiently.</p>
<p>Huffing, Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”</p>
<p>The flex of Wilson’s muscles against the sides of his neck was sexier than it had any right being as his spine curved and the back of his skull pressed firmly against the cabinets, bearing his weight. House shifted closer and ran his hand along the firm flex of Wilson’s torso, slipping his palm around to rest in the middle of Wilson’s back. His free hand spread on the counter, spreading his thighs to bear as much of Wilson’s weight as he was able so Jimmy could use his hands.</p>
<p>And the unscrewing of the bottle lid was practically obscene, as Wilson maneuvered to pour a rather generous amount of oil into his palm, before dropping the bottle to the side and clamping his clean hand down on House’s shoulder. The oncologist pulled himself forward and wrapped his slick palm around the base of House’s dick.</p>
<p>House’s breath punched out of him as Jimmy curled his fingers and gave an almost experimental squeeze – as if Wilson <em>didn’t </em>know exactly how House liked his cock pulled. The forward slide was loose, Wilson’s palm twisting around his cockhead, fingers tightening as he slid his grip downward and pulling the foreskin back from the flared tip. Already precum was beading at the slit. House watched his slick, flushed length pull through Wilson’s hand, the glide of it obscene and dirty, setting him alight with want. His hips twitched forward into that touch, chasing the feel of Wilson’s slick palm smoothing against him. His length twitched, feeling impossibly hard.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Jimmy,” he breathed out, leaning forward to press his nose to the crook of Wilson’s neck, hips jerking up into that languid stroke as Wilson’s palm twisted around his tip. “Lemme have you, yeah?”</p>
<p>Wilson’s head rested against the side of his scalp, breath ghosting hotly along House’s ear. “Just. Start slow, alright.” And those words punched nto him, the implication of it sinking down into him – stirring arousal sharply in his guts. He jerked back to stare hungrily at the younger man.</p>
<p>“I can . . .” he started, but Wilson made a soft noise, squeezing at the base of his cock.</p>
<p>“It’s fine – just go slow.” Wilson wiped his slick hand on his thigh before planting his palms behind him and wiggling forward to tilt his hips downward over the edge of the counter. House’s length slid between perfect cheeks, the slick-slide of it pulling a deep-seated groan from his chest.</p>
<p>“Besides,” Wilson continued, dark eyes glittering at him puckishly. “You’re not exactly a Biggus Dickus.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” House huffed out, reaching between his legs to squeeze the base of his cock to discourage the tingle of arousal taking up there. He shuffled forward to rub his cockhead slickly against Wilson’s entrance. “That’s sacrilege. Mocking Monty Python, you <em>heathen</em>.” He tilted his hips, tip pressing wetly against that fluttering, quivering muscle before swiveling forward, sinking just past Jimmy’s clenching rim. The shaky groan that filtered up between them was unclaimed by either.</p>
<p>And <em>fuck</em> he couldn’t breathe – and he was pretty sure that shaky groan had been his. Because Jimmy was nothing but tight, clenching heat bearing down along the glans of his cock and the sight of his length slip-sliding in and out of that heat was nothing short of perfect. Groaning, House pressed his mouth to the crook of Wilson’s neck, breathing out hotly. He squeezed roughly at the base of his dick because he was horrified at the very real possibility of maybe cumming that like, with only his tip pushed into the heat of that perfect ass.</p>
<p>One of Wilson’s hands lifted, tangling in the short hair at the crown of his skull, hand pulling as House rocked his hips – sliding his tip slowly in and out of that clenching heat, the ridge of his glans catching at Jimmy’s fluttering rim with each almost-thrust. Wilson’s fingers tightened, knees squeezing at his sides as the younger man whined. House shifted his weight, pressing his mouth hotly against the crook of Wilson’s neck. He tried valiantly to maintain the slow pace when all those hindbrain instincts screamed at him to fuck up into Jimmy possessively.</p>
<p>“Greg,” Jimmy panted, his fingers clenching in House’s hair, nails scraping at his scalp in a delightful way.</p>
<p>“Just the tip, Jimmy,” House grunted, kissing hotly at Wilson’s throat in an attempt to distract the younger man. Because his dick was perfectly average sized – thank you very much – around six and a half and a borderline handful, but <em>Christ </em>Jimmy was tight. Always so tight, but impossibly so unstretched out like he was. And House felt huge. “Relax.”</p>
<p>Which didn’t seem like a possibility, given that all of Wilson’s lower torso muscles were wound up tight to keep him at that angle, making him clench even harder around House’s glans. Wilson’s palm slid down to cup the back of his skull, pressing House’s mouth firmly against his neck. And House dutifully nipped and sucked at that tender skin, rasping the flat of his tongue against a pounding pulse, laying opened-mouth kisses as he went.</p>
<p>“Nnh,” Jimmy whined, curling forward to press his head against House’s shoulder. The pressure around his cock intensified, those muscles clenching sharply around his length. And House shuffled forward, his hands sliding down to clutch at Jimmy’s hips and pulling the younger doctor down against him. He tilted his hips, rubbing against Wilson’s prostate each time his flushed cockhead popped through that quivering rim.</p>
<p>Arousal bloomed in his guts at the idea of them getting off with only two inches of House’s dick sliding in and out of Jimmy’s ass. His cock jerked, and House squeezed the base of it more firmly, trying valiantly to calm down.</p>
<p>House murmured nonsensical noises of comfort against sweat-slick skin, all the while licking and sucking at Wilson’s pounding pulse. He shifted forward, pressing deeper into that aching heat in shallow, rocking thrusts. There was a shuddering breath as Wilson tilted his hips forward, encouraging House deeper. His thighs and knees clamped along House’s sides, effectively supporting more of Wilson’s weight – allowing House to wedge his hands between Jimmy and the countertop. He rolled his hips in a harder thrust, slipping deeper into that heat – feeling Wilson tense along his length sharply.</p>
<p>“Jesus,” he coughed out, clenching his hands against Jimmy’s tight ass as he leaned forward, slipping his fingers between Wilson’s weight and the edge of the counter. Wilson’s cock jumped against his stomach, throbbing and smearing precum as the Jimmy’s back swayed. Groaning, House squeezed at those perfect cheeks, pulling them slightly apart as he rolled his hips upward, catching a glimpse of his length disappearing between them. He pressed his forehead just under the jut of Wilson’s chin, sucking at the side of Jimmy’s Adam’s apple. Already the combination of the oncologist’s weight along with the countertop was numbing his hands. Not that he cared, as Wilson spread his hands along the counter before he rolled his hips downward, pushing House’s cock deeper.</p>
<p>House’s cock slipped up into the oncologist, hips stuttering forward as his length slid further into Wilson’s tight heat. He tried to roll his hips, slow and smooth, up into Wilson’s body. But his breath choked out of his chest, arousal urging him forward sharper. His hands slid downward, curling tightly around Jimmy’s thighs and pulling the younger man against his hips.</p>
<p>Buried to the hilt, House rocked his hips deeper into Wilson’s body. He pressed his face to Wilson’s neck, his hands curled around Wilson’s thighs just under his ass as the younger man rolled his hips downward, his length sinking into Jimmy’s tight heat slowly. Wilson’s muscles clenched around his cock, sucking him deeper, and Wilson whimpering almost pitifully as House pulled back.</p>
<p>Gasping, House thrust upward hard, sliding in deep into Wilson’s tight heat. His heart pounded against the bones of his chest. Only then was he thinking about the logistics of it, how fast he could fuck up into Wilson, how long they could feasibly keep the position – what with Wilson balanced there at the edge of the counter and his whole leg thing. After all, a lack of leg pain didn’t magically make the missing muscles grow back – but his dick had a mind of its own, pulling him forward, urging him onward to fuck harder, faster into Wilson. His hips snapped forward.</p>
<p>“Nnh.” And Wilson bit at his shoulder, breath gasping out hotly through his tee, panting. “Christ,” the oncologist groaned, knees squeezing as his entire body tightened. His back swayed to provide easier access to his entrance, for House to fuck into him deep. And who was House to say no to that, as Jimmy’s hot erection whispered velvet-steel soft against his stomach and Wilson made a breathy noise.</p>
<p>“Christ, Jimmy,” House panted out, heart pounding with exertion, as he drove his hips forward. The obscene slick-slide of Jimmy’s cock against his skin buried arousal in his guts, burned it along his nerves.</p>
<p>And Jimmy really had been made for fucking hadn’t he, as he leaned back and bore his weight between skull and arm, bringing a hand around to palm at his slick cock as he pulled it from under House’s shirt. The touch of it made all his muscles tense, clamping down around House like a leaden curtain, stirring arousal sharply in House’s guts and pulling the orgasm along his spine. He watched Wilson stroke himself, fucking up into the younger man at the same quick pace as House listened to those breathy moans and watched that lovely cock slip between Wilson’s fingers filthily.</p>
<p>House bent over Wilson’s lap, watching the oncologist’s deft fingers stroke and pull and squeeze downward, his palm twisting and rubbing over the head. It wasn’t the first time House had seen that lovely display – of Jimmy’s thumb pushing over the ridge of the glans, smearing precum along satin skin as his fingers pulled tightly down – but still the sight of it coiled arousal low in his guts, urging him to snap his hips forward. Those wrecked, strung-out gasps breathing into his ear pulled House’s hips hard.</p>
<p>And fucking up into that clenched heat, watching Wilson stroke himself toward completion – House was fairly certain he was glimpsing Heaven . . . or something startling similar. White edged there at the corners of his peripheral as pleasure sparked and burned him.</p>
<p>Wilson’s moan was a deep, punched-out thing as he came – cum staining the fabric of his shirt before rolling down over his fingers thickly. Those deft fingers milked the orgasm from Jimmy’s dick, and House chased his orgasm, watching those clever fingers squeeze and roll that lovely cock as Wilson stroked himself through it as his back bowed under the weight of his pleasure. House pressed forward, biting at the crook of the younger man’s neck as he came, dick flexing hard as he pounded forward, spilling into that ass as he pulled Wilson down against him, House’s hips rocking upward into that clenching heat.</p>
<p>His breath was rattling out of him, his legs were quivering as House rocked up against Wilson in the quaky aftershocks of his orgasm. Not to mention he was bearing most of Wilson’s weight. House slipped out, still kind-of hard and panting. And Jimmy wasn’t much better, as his knees still dug hard into House’s side.</p>
<p>He watched the younger man grimace at the mess on his hand, wiping it against his chest before blinking up at House. The knees clamped into his sides relaxed, legs extending in search of the floor. The slick-slide of their softening cocks sent a bolt of arousal through him, and it didn’t even begin to occur to him that House should shift backward and let Jimmy find his feet.</p>
<p>“Shower,” the younger man huffed out, as House slowly let Wilson slither from the edge of the counter to the floor.</p>
<p>Already, Wilson was working at the buttons of his stupidly expensive oxford, leaving the shirt on the floor with the rest of his scattered clothing, and heading toward the bathroom naked. And House followed him, shucking his tee without preamble – if only because olive oil could clog pores and increase the chance of infection, and he definitely didn’t want that for Wilson’s pretty ass.</p>
<p>Wilson had already stepped into the bathtub by the time House caught up with the younger man. And House took a moment to appreciate the sight of silvery water sluicing along Wilson’s pale skin – the heat of it flushing the oncologist’s skin because Jimmy liked his showers scalding. He stepped in after Wilson, steam coiling around his ankles damply.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that,” Wilson huffed out, turning to face House, luffa in hand. The younger man scrubbed the porous surface against his chest, slipping downward to rub at the precum smeared along his stomach, clumping in the wiry hair there.</p>
<p>“It was pretty hot,” he breathed out as Wilson abandoned the luffa and closed a soap-slick hand around his dick, stroking him more purposefully than he did when trying to get House off. Barely settled arousal thumped heavily through his veins – too early to get hard again or not, that grip was <em>good</em>. And it was instinct to rock into that firm touch, his dick twitching in interest.</p>
<p>“Not if one of us manages to get an infection or something stupid like that.” Wilson stepped closer, rubbing a soapy palm along the crease of House’s groin, and he dutifully spread his legs. Wilson’s face pressed against the crook of his neck; each exhale seemingly hotter than the water washing down over them. House ran palms along the younger man’s ribs, earning him a pleased hum. The feeling of Jimmy’s hands slipping along the crease of his groin, rolling his sac was more erotic than it had any reason being, and he clutched at Wilson’s shoulder, sucking in great mouthfuls of steamy air.</p>
<p>“Floor,” House panted, pulling back and earning himself a curious look from Wilson. “You’re the one with oil in less than desirable places.” He did his damnedest to leer, but Jimmy just rolled his eyes and turned away, sinking to the floor of the tub and legs spreading until his knees dug into the sides as his hands spread on either side of the faucet. And <em>Jesus</em> Jimmy was hot. Scrubbing at his face, House grabbed the bar of soap and followed the younger man to the floor.</p>
<p>“This feels like a bad porno,” Wilson quipped lightly, glancing over his shoulder with a wry grin, dark eyes glittering brightly with humor.</p>
<p>“Maybe I should have just dropped the soap and had you bend over,” he returned, lathering his palms up and shuffling forward, pressing his forehead against the younger man’s shoulder. He ran his hands along widespread inner thighs, touch alternating from firm to soft as Wilson’s muscles flexed under sensitive skin as if his legs were trying to spread further only for the motion to be aborted by the acrylic  shell of the tub.</p>
<p>Wilson huffed out a laugh, back swaying and jutting his hips backward. “As if you could get hard again anytime soon.”</p>
<p>“Stranger things have happened,” he grumbled, dragging his fingertips upward, listening to the shuddery quality Wilson’s breathing took on as House rubbed at the seam where thigh turned into the curve of the younger man’s ass, working the oil away where it had slipped downward, body warmed. Arousal was sparking along his skin because the whole situation was sexy.</p>
<p>House slid his palms along the crease of Wilson’s groin, feeling a modicum of pride at the soft noise he wrung out of the oncologist. He nosed at the soft place just behind Wilson’s ear, hands pushing downward firmly, cupping Jimmy’s sac and squeezing lightly, rolling his palm so his fingers could press against Wilson’s perineum.</p>
<p>“I don’t think there’s any oil on that part of my body,” Wilson panted out, even as he pressed back into House’s chest and his hips tilted out in welcome at that touch. The weight of him against House made his cock twitch, tingling in the best kind of way, tissues trying to harden.</p>
<p>“No,” House asked coyly, dragging his hand away to curl lazily around the base of Wilson’s cock. “Hmm. Here?” He stroked slowly, sliding his thumb along a flushed cockhead with every upward stroke. He curled his fingers just behind the glans and twisted, squeezing.  </p>
<p>“Are you taking testosterone,” Wilson gasped out breathlessly, hips jerking upward and pressing more firmly into the touch. House took his time working Jimmy over, slowly pulling the younger man back to full hardness as he bit and mouthed at the side of his neck.</p>
<p>“No.” After all, <em>everybody lies</em> he reminded himself. Plus, it wasn’t <em>just </em>testosterone. His cock was slowly hardening, twitching valiantly as Wilson whined and panted breathily in his ear – the oncologist’s hips pressing his cock up impatiently into House’s touch.</p>
<p>“<em>Something’s </em>gotten into you,” Wilson breathed out, head knocking back against House’s shoulder with a petulant whine as House pulled his hand away, pulling his palms along Jimmy’s widespread thighs.</p>
<p>“Uh – duh. My leg doesn’t hurt and you’re stupid hot, obviously,” House scoffed, tone just mocking enough to hide the truth of his words.</p>
<p>“Obviously.” Wilson huffed out a laugh, and he could hear the eyeroll in that tone.</p>
<p>He slipped a hand between their bodies, smoothing his fingers down Wilson’s back, along the curve of his ass. Jimmy tilted his hips back, gasping out a soft noise as House drew gentle circles along his rim. Still fucked-open, House slid two fingers into Wilson, spreading them as he went. The feeling of his residual spend, the slickness of the lingering oil in that tight heat was indecent.</p>
<p>House slipped a hand down to squeeze at the base of his dick, tugging lightly to encourage it to harden further – because as it was, he was only half-hard. He pulled his cockhead along Wilson’s cleft in clear intention.</p>
<p>“Of course. You <em>would</em> feel like it’s acceptable to fuck me with a partial erection,” Wilson huffed, tone more amused than House felt the situation called for. He rocked his slowly hardening dick against Wilson’s cleft before gripping handfuls of that pretty ass so he could drag his length against that quivering, stretched-out rim.</p>
<p>“I can push rope with the best of them,” he returned, mouthing hotly along Wilson’s throat and thanking whatever possibly there, fucked up God there might’ve been that his building had a phenomenal amount of hot water.</p>
<p>“How lackluster,” the younger man murmured, pulling away and doing some sort of complicated maneuvers to turn around to face him. And Wilson really didn’t have any right looking that good. What with his cheeks flushed with the water temperature and arousal, his dark eyes glittering with pupils blown wide, as water tripped off impossibly long lashes with each blink and a pink tongue slunk along an equally pink bottom lip.</p>
<p>Wilson edged in closer, crowding House back against the tub. He gasped as the cool acrylic connected with his back, the skin warmed by nearly scalding water.</p>
<p>“Not everyone can have the libido of an eighteen-year-old,” House bit out as Wilson climbed into his lap, as his hands curled around the younger man’s hips and Jimmy’s length pressed against his navel.</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Wilson dipped down, lips hovering just out of House’s reach – and those almost-gold flecks in his dark eyes are more of an amber color, like warm whiskey. “What a shame.”</p>
<p>A hand threaded through his hair as Jimmy raised up on knees bracketed around House’s thighs, kissing him in a lewd slide of tongues. The other hand reached between them, curling around House’s cock and tugging, fingers tightening and sliding. And <em>damn</em> Jimmy was good at that, as House’s head fell back in encouragement and Wilson deepened the kiss. House groaned as the ridged band of his foreskin stretched, popping over the glans delightfully as the younger man’s wrist twisted. Wilson nipped as his bottom lip before the oncologist’s tongue brushed teasingly along the ridges of his hard palate, making House’s dick jump in Jimmy’s grip. House’s hips rolled up into that firm touch with a whine.</p>
<p>The slick-slide of Jimmy’s tongue against his disappeared, and House’s tongue chased Wilson’s into the other’s mouth, scraping along the edge of teeth. He hadn’t expected Wilson to suck his tongue further into his mouth, though – the sharp-sweet pressure pulling the slick muscle into that hot mouth, stirring arousal hotly in the pit of his belly. A thumbpad pressed down firmly on his cockhead, rubbing at the slit while Wilson sucked at his tongue.</p>
<p>“Maybe <em>I’m </em>a god,” Wilson teased, his mouth moving along House’s throat, hand squeezing around his hard cock – and House couldn’t think of a thing to say, choosing rather to focus on soft lips kissing down his neck. “It lives.” A huff of amused breath at the join of his neck.</p>
<p> And House would have rolled his eyes, if Jimmy’s warm breath hadn’t ghosted over his ear – the younger man nosing at his hair. “What if . . . I ride you.”</p>
<p>House’s breath punched out. That wasn’t something they’d done too often – Wilson always too concerned about his ruined thigh. Which, admittedly, was probably something to worry about, given that his thigh could barely hold <em>his</em> weight, let alone an enthusiastic Wilson’s.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you worried about taxing my leg,” he teased, tipping his head to press small kisses along Wilson’s jaw.</p>
<p>“Says the man who just fucked me against the counter.” Wilson moved to slip off his lap. “But if you want to be a brat . . .”</p>
<p>House grabbed perhaps a bit too tightly at the oncologist’s hips, pulling the younger man back to him while shimming his hips downward, bending his knees to make room to flatten his torso some. “Dick down, Jimmy.” There was only a hint of whine in his voice as he squirmed to get comfortable against the slight slope of the tub.</p>
<p>Wilson just rolled his eyes. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t want to hurt your leg.” The oncologist’s hands rested on his shoulders, eyebrows lifting in question as his thumbs rubbed against the sharp cuts of House’s clavicles. Wilson tilted forward, knees pressing to the curve of the tub on either side of House’s stomach as he tried to find the right balance of weight spread out amongst limbs.</p>
<p>“Totally worth it,” House murmured, pressing his thumbs against the juts of Jimmy’s hipbones. He slid his palms backward, gripping the swell of Wilson’s ass. Jesus, Jimmy was perfect.</p>
<p>“For your perfectly average dick? Yeah – for you, maybe,” Wilson huffed, his hands finding purchase at the sides of the tub. A hand curled the free edge, the other pressing flat against the wall as the younger man rocked his hips against House’s chest. Jimmy’s hard length smeared slickly against the hollow where House’s ribs met his sternum.</p>
<p>“You never complained before.” He smoothed his palms back along Wilson’s thighs, feeling the femoris flex as the oncologist rocked on his toes and balls of his feet.</p>
<p>The smile Jimmy gave him was a small, fond thing. “True.”</p>
<p>And Jimmy said it right before he sunk down on House’s dick. The tight, hot clench of Wilson’s muscles choked the breath out of House’s chest with a soft gasp. Because Wilson like that was ridiculously tight, all his lower torso muscles flexed as Jimmy rocked back and forth. The slick of the oil had begun to soak into skin, and the grip of Wilson’s muscles was dragging in an almost painful way as he moved, lifting up just barely to slide back down – his hips shifting against House’s lap.</p>
<p>His head collided with the tub, both his skull and the acrylic groaning dully at the contact as House rolled up into Wilson’s downward rock. Hands gripping tightly at Wilson’s hips, House held the younger man down against him as he rocked upward.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Jimmy,” he gasped out, House’s mouth falling open as he sucked in a deep breath. The steam reached moist fingers into his lungs, choking him briefly before he swallowed past it. House slid his hand along Wilson’s lower back, his hand spreading as he pulled the younger man down to rock forward. He rolled up into it. <em>You’re perfect</em> pooled in his mouth as House pushed up into Wilson’s clenching heat, fingers curling along the oncologist’s water slicked skin.</p>
<p>House pulled his knees in further, bending them as he spread his toes for traction, stretching his Achilles sharply. And Wilson gave him an almost-smile before the hand pressed along the wall reached back and spread on House’s knee, chest twisting as he leveraged himself, leaning back. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Good,” House gasped out from between gritted teeth as Wilson moved slowly, steadily above him.</p>
<p>He rolled up into the slant of Wilson’s body as the younger man leaned back against House’s knees, Jimmy sliding upward slowly – the younger man’s body a rather lovely flex of muscle and bone against supple flesh as Wilson rose up on his cock and slid back down. The clench of Wilson around his length was deliciously tight, all-encompassing as Jimmy pressed his hips downward, House slipping up into that scalding clamp of muscles.</p>
<p>Groaning, House curled his fingers along the juts of Jimmy’s hips, rolling upward as Wilson pressed downward. “Jesus,” he groaned again, eyes squinting shut tightly as he chased Jimmy’s heat.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” the younger man corrected, rolling his hips downward and twisting – the oncologist’s hips shimming up and down along House’s length slowly, balanced back against House’s thighs.</p>
<p>And he couldn’t breathe, House’s hips jerking upward into that inviting heat. His head tipped back harder against the curve of acrylic, pressure mounting against his skull as House chased the sweet-sharp edge of his orgasm kept just out of reach with the slow slide of their bodies together.</p>
<p>House dug his elbow back into the tub, shifting upward into a bit more of a sitting position, and trailed his gaze along the curve of Jimmy’s form, pulling the younger man tight against him and stilling all motion. Dark eyes fluttered open, water dripping down flushed cheeks. And wasn’t that a sight – water spilling down the slope of Wilson’s chest, dribbling over his shoulders, and pooling in House’s lap where their bodies pressed firmly together.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong,” Wilson gasped out, hips shifting impatiently where they rested against House’s and sending a cascade of ripples along his length. “Your leg? Do you need to stop?” Always so considerate.</p>
<p>“Nah.” House reached out, fingers curling around Wilson’s length. He wondered if Wilson cumming would be enough to wring his orgasm from him, and his dick jumped at that thought. Jimmy squirmed against the sensation, hips grinding down as those dark eyes widened – as though he could know House’s thoughts.</p>
<p>“Just sit there and look pretty,” he breathed out, tangling his free hand in Wilson’s dark hair and pulling the younger man toward him for something that was roughly the approximation of a kiss – but with gently clicking teeth and somewhat sloppy tongue work. House tugged his fistful of heavy strands, dragging Wilson forward a bit as he bent his wrist accordingly to stroke Jimmy properly.</p>
<p>The slick of the younger man’s precum gave his hand a filthy glide, his palm twisting as it went. Wilson shifted against him, hips rocking down. The tight clench of muscles made House’s cock jerk, throbbing.</p>
<p>Wilson’s mouth pulled away from his, the damp pant of his breath against House’s lips sexier than it had any right being. “Can you cum like this,” the younger man asked, tone low and hoarse. House’s cock jerked at those words, while Wilson’s hips rolled downward.</p>
<p>“You keep talking like that,” House huffed out, all bite gone from his tone. He saw Wilson’s pupils widen further, the younger man’s hands bracing against the shower wall behind him, leaning forward. Those muscles clamped mercilessly along his length, shocking a jerk of his hips out of him. “Christ,” he bit out.</p>
<p>It was amazing how such a small shift in position could make Jimmy almost unbearable tight. He tightened his grip on Wilson’s cock, stroking more firmly. His palm twisted, the length of that pretty dick twitching in his hand as he squeezed just behind the head.</p>
<p>“You ah . . .” dark eyes fluttered, a soft noise breathing from between parted lips. “You feel so <em>big</em> like this.” And those words punched hotly into him, reaching down into his guts and spreading heat there.</p>
<p>“Christ,” he gasped out, head thumping back against the acrylic behind him. House swallowed hard, throat clicking, as he doubled his efforts of getting Wilson off. He tilted upward to kiss Jimmy, teeth scraping along his soft lip, his tongue sliding against Wilson’s. And that hot length throbbed against his palm as he tightened his grip. Wilson slipped backward just a bit more, and House wagered his cock was pressing firmly against the younger man’s prostate.</p>
<p>“Nnh, Greg.” Just a little gasped out half-whine, but Jimmy’s cock jerked in his hand, precum drooling from the slit. House swiped his thumb over the glans, collecting the slick. “Please,” Wilson whispered, seemingly having taken House’s words to heart. House’s heart was frantically trying to break free from the cage of his ribs.</p>
<p>Muscles tightened around his erection, Wilson’s hips shifting restlessly. “Christ, you’re so hard,” Jimmy whispered, eyes finally fluttering shut. A hand found its way into his hair, and House might or might not have forgotten how to breathe. Instead, it felt like he was sucking in air when his lungs withered in his chest. A small whimper crawled out of Wilson’s throat.</p>
<p>“I’m leaking everywhere.” There was a slight wrinkle of disgust in Wilson’s tone at that, but fuck it was obscene – hearing his Jimmy say that, in that breathy tone. The fingers in House’s hair tightened, and House drew his thumb nail lightly against the underside of Wilson’s cock as his hand pushed downward. His thumbpad following the same path on the upward tug. “Nnh, fuck.”</p>
<p>House jerked up at that punched-out whine, the curse, the ripple of muscles tightening around him as Wilson rocked down against him. His fingers curled around Jimmy’s flared cockhead, his thumb rolling up and over the ridge of the glans as he twisted his fingers just behind the ridge. House watched that slick cockhead push through his hand as he slid down, squeezing as he went.</p>
<p>“Fuck Greg,” Wilson panted out, his cheeks flushed and eyes tightly closed. “Like that, baby – like that.” And House should have mocked him for that term – but Wilson was tightening around him, hips shifting, precum dribbling to House’s stomach thickly. And what were <em>words? </em>How did they work and what place did they have in the world, when Jimmy was sounding like that – wrecked and needy, <em>begging</em> him.</p>
<p>So, he repeated the motion, pulling his thumb down over the ridge, up over that wet tip. He closed his palm along the slick head, twisting and squeezing as his fingers rocked downward firmly. Jimmy’s hips jerked forward, lifting him just barely off House’s length before pressing back with a choked-out noise. And House’s orgasm was pooling hotly in his lower stomach, the cradle of his hips.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” the younger man breathed out, hips bucking again up into House’s hand before grinding back down on House’s dick. House jerked his hand down tightly, squeezing as he went before dragging his hand back up, thumb rolling and squeezing around Wilson’s tip. He twisted along the head wetly, earning him a punched-out whine and tightly clenching muscles, Jimmy’s knees digging into the sides.</p>
<p>Wilson’s forehead knocked lightly to his, hips pulling up along House’s cock before sinking back down. The oncologist’s nose bumped his, and that open, panting mouth breathed against his. “M’gonna make a mess,” Jimmy slurred, hips rolling downward. “Nnh.” And he was pretty sure that sound was <em>directly</em> related to House’s ability to cum – the soft whimper-whine of it undoing him like shitty knots even as his arousal coiled and writhed in him, pulling tighter and tighter.</p>
<p>“M’gonna cum, Greg.” Jimmy’s words left him in a breathed-out moan, his hips rolling down impatiently. And <em>those </em>words jerked his hips up, made House’s palm twist a little harder against that slick cockhead, punched his breath out of his lungs as his dick jumped in those tight muscles. He tightened his fingers, twisting as he pushed down, rolling them back up – seemingly pulling Wilson’s orgasm from his spine.</p>
<p>“Nnh.” The spurt of viscous seminal fluid caught him in chest, Wilson’s hand closing around his – their combined fingers rolling and squeezing along the flare of the head, twisting and stroking, milking the orgasm from Jimmy’s lovely cock as Wilson’s muscles fluttered and clenched around him. The younger man’s cum dripping from their combined hands was hotter than it should have been, and House jerked, cock throbbing against that clench of those brand-hot muscles.</p>
<p>House jerked up into that heat, his hand pressing Wilson back against his upward thrust – head dropping back and eyes screwing shut as his orgasm slammed into him with the intensity of a fucking freight train. His hips drove upward, stutteringly, into the clenching grip of Jimmy’s body.</p>
<p>The cooling water washed them clean, and House’s first thought when he was able to make thoughts again was that they were holding hands – in a vague gist of the contact, and albeit wrapped around Wilson’s softening cock, but still. Wilson’s arm had wound around his neck, the younger man pressed against his chest. And House’s heart ached as he smoothed a hand along Jimmy’s back, pushing up through the heavy, wet hair at the back of his skull.</p>
<p>Wilson hummed softly at the touch, nosing along the underside of House’s jaw. His breath flared hotly along the tender skin of his throat, raising goosebumps. A lazy kiss pressed along the hinge of his jaw and then against his mouth, in a languid slide of tongues and the gentle pressure of lips. And then Wilson shifted upward, pressing his forehead to the slick shower wall, and House could feel him breathe.</p>
<p>It was <em>disgustingly perfect,</em> and House had to ruin it. He <em>needed</em> to tear the moment to ribbons, because there was a pooling warmth low in his chest – feeling dangerously close to happiness. And that would never do.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna hate me,” House mumbled against the skin of Wilson’s throat, feeling the soft rumble of vibrations there as the younger man hummed. “But the oil has to come out.”</p>
<p>“What?” Wilson jerked back, shaking his head. “No, House. I am <em>definitely</em> too sensitive for you to go cramming anything up my ass <em>anytime</em> soon.” He pushed back, hips twisting as if to stand, and House wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s waist, aborting the evasive motion.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Jimmy,” he muttered, but House really didn’t want that pretty ass dealing with clogged pores or infection. He nosed along the smooth skin of Wilson’s chest, lips smearing almost-kisses in apology.</p>
<p>He gathered water on his fingers where it sluiced warmly along the curve of Wilson’s back, sliding fingers along Wilson’s cleft, catching at his rim. The quiver was a whole-body thing, as Jimmy sucked in a sharp breath and his fingers curled in House’s hair. The muscles of Wilson’s thighs clamped around him, and House felt bad for all of a second as he pressed his fingers in deep, spreading them and pushing the lackluster glide of water up into those clenching muscles.</p>
<p>Wilson’s whine rattled into him where their bodies touched, as House pulled his fingers free only to gather more water and return. He could feel the hard pound of Jimmy’s heart, thumping against the bones of his chest, as House cleaned away as much of his spend and the cooking oil as he could.</p>
<p>“Told you this was a terrible idea,” Wilson choked out, hips twisting as his glutes flexed in an attempt to wiggle away from his touch. His breathing punched out as his fingers curled sharper in House’s hair, tugging as he whimpered.</p>
<p>“Well, it <em>was</em> your idea,” House teased, dragging fingers against clenching muscles.</p>
<p>“Of course,” the younger man huffed out. “Knew I was to blame <em>somehow</em>.”</p>
<p>House just hummed, pressing kisses softly against the line of Jimmy’s throat – working his fingers deeper and feeling Wilson’s cock twitch against his chest. Because <em>of course</em> the sharp edge of overstimulation would spark arousal along the younger man’s skin. And House toyed with the thought, wondering if he could coax Wilson back to hardness, pull another orgasm from that overworked cock.</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about it,” Wilson broke in, voice cracking. He scoffed, but still House pulled his fingers from that clenching heat and slid palms along quivering thighs.</p>
<p>Breathily, Wilson pressed against him, and House tipped his head back to peer up at the younger man, arms wrapping around the lovely thighs spread around his chest. He smoothed a hand along the slope of Jimmy’s back, feeling the hard expansion of ribs as the oncologist sucked in deep breaths. It felt achingly tender somehow, and House hid his face in the smooth plane of Wilson’s sternum.</p>
<p>“Water’s cold,” Wilson grumbled softly, forehead tilted against the shower wall and lips parted in slowing, gasping breaths.</p>
<p>“You’re warm,” he returned, even as House could feel the chill of Jimmy’s skin, splattered with cool water that was rapidly hurtling toward freezing. He nuzzled closer, clutching Wilson against him with a tighter grip around those thighs.</p>
<p>“My knees hurt, House,” came the petulant whine, Wilson’s head dipping to press against his, the spine under his touch curving. “C’mon.” And Jimmy was pulling out of his grip, shutting off the water, and pushing hands through his water-logged hair to send rivulets of almost-silver cascading down skin.</p>
<p>“Baby,” House grumped, heaving himself upward only to be met with Wilson throwing a towel in his direction. He watched the younger man leave the bathroom as he hurriedly dragged the cloth along his skin, a bone-deep ache bearing down into him. They’d spent too long on the hard floor of the tub, and his hips complained a bit as House dropped the towel on the bathroom floor and followed Wilson.</p>
<p>His breath caught pitifully at the sight of Jimmy in his bed – like it always did, in a way that was most unbecoming of an asshole like him. But as he watched, the younger man nosed at their pillows, huffing out something like a content sigh, wiggling down into the covers more.</p>
<p>“House. Come to bed,” the younger man breathed out, dark eyes opening blearily.</p>
<p>“Yes dear,” he mocked – but it didn’t quite sound like mocking to his own ears. <em>It really was getting out of hand</em> House thought, as he climbed into bed and dragged the covers up over his shoulder. The bedroom descended into silence, the soft lull of breathing as House stared aimlessly at the opposite wall, listening to Jimmy breathe and wondering when that had become a lullaby of sorts.</p>
<p>House laid there – listening to Wilson shift around in the sheets, thinking way too much. And the slow slide of an arm curving around his midriff caught him off guard, the hot line of Jimmy’s body snugging in tight against his. A sigh huffed against his nape, and it took everything in him not to entangle his fingers with Jimmy’s.</p>
<p>Instead, he just closed his eyes.</p>
<p>And in the morning, when he woke to Wilson making bacon – dressed in low-slung sweats and one of House’s faded band tees – the gross domesticity of it barbed in his throat, dug tendrils of some emotion he’d rather not name down into his chest. And House had the thought that maybe that possibly there God wasn’t quite as fucked up as he’d initially thought.</p>
<p>After all, they’d made Jimmy, hadn’t they – created the oncologist in their image. And that image was perfect, wasn’t it. And Gods were made to be worshipped, weren’t they. And Jimmy too, by association. And that was quite the thought, wasn’t it.</p>
<p>So, it was over a meal of cold beer and good Thai later that night that he approached the subject. Jimmy was always more pliant when he’d had a bit to drink. Not to mention that House didn’t know if he’d be able to swallow the thought down any longer. Because, as it was, every time he glanced in Wilson’s direction, the thought mounted in his chest and choked him with want. So, he spit it out.</p>
<p>“Let me tie you to the bed, fuck you how I want.”</p>
<p>Wilson huffed out an incredulous sound, attention still firmly on <em>The L Word</em> and fork still lifting panang curry to his mouth. House thought about licking into the younger man’s mouth, tasting the sweet heat of the sauce, the almost sweetness of the red peppers. Instead, House crammed a forkful of drunken noodles in his mouth.</p>
<p>“I feel like <em>all</em> the fucking has been how you want,” Wilson quipped before taking a long pull on his beer.</p>
<p>“You’ve enjoyed yourself,” he defended, frowning down at his noodles. Out of his peripheral, House caught sight of the slow roll of Wilson’s shrug.</p>
<p>“What can I say,” Wilson deadpanned, licking a little of that curry sauce off the prongs of his fork – the tip of his tongue dragging in an indecent slide that snatched the breath out of House’s chest. “I like sex. So, sue me.”</p>
<p>“Look.” House dropped his takeout box on the coffee table, turning to give Wilson a look. “All you have to do is just lay back and take it. Who doesn’t enjoy a little bit of body worship.”</p>
<p>“Sounds more like something someone with a God Complex would enjoy.”</p>
<p>House snorted. “Right – you would. So just lay down and let me have you.”</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em>.”</p>
<p>Huffing, House drained his beer and shoved himself to his feet. “Just think about it, alright.”</p>
<p>He definitely wasn’t sulking in his room, with his face pressed to sheets that smelled like the both of them. He heard the pipes start up, the sound of water pushing through the room as Wilson showered. Which, that was a stupid notion – Sunday being the <em>only</em> day the younger man showered at night and certainly didn’t deter Jimmy from showering <em>again</em> come Monday morning, bright and early. Which always segued into Wilson using the world’s loudest hairdryer but that was a thought for another time, as House listened to the pipes rumbling and let his imagination wander.</p>
<p>And laying in bed – one that smelled like the sweat-slick slide of their skin and the musk-sweet scent of sex – probably wasn’t the best place for him to be pondering over Jimmy climbing into the shower. Especially considering it had been only yesterday that he’d had a lap full of wet and willing Wilson – the oncologist’s thighs flexing as he bore down on House’s cock, breathy moans slipping into the steam around them.</p>
<p>House rolled out of bed, running hands over his hair and stalking from the bedroom. He threw himself down on the couch, turning the TV up obnoxiously loud, and trying to focus on the monster trucks roaring around on screen. But it was difficult.</p>
<p>Wilson really was too much of a distraction, and House found himself irrevocably pulled toward the younger man – as though he were nothing but a magpie, and Jimmy were just a particularly shiny, extremely pretty bauble. And House redoubled his attempt to pay attention to the carnage on TV.</p>
<p>“Greg,” the oncologist called from just past his shoulder, pulling House’s attention over the back of the couch. Wilson’s voice soft and breathy, piquing his interest.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he murmured, heart stammering behind the bones of his chest because the younger man was stupid hot, and House was stupid weak for him.</p>
<p>Fresh from the shower, Wilson gave him a look. In just sweatpants, with water droplets languidly slipping down the planes of his bare chest – House could clearly see it when the oncologist sighed, the expansion of his ribs, the shift of his chest. He could see the swell of his abdominals as Jimmy breathed, slow and deep in resignation. But still, the younger man stalled, as Wilson ran the towel up over his hair and sent a scattering of water droplets chasing one another down his skin as he stood in the hall’s doorway. And House wanted to follow their glimmering paths with his tongue.</p>
<p>He made a noncommittal noise low in his throat, swallowing hard – because the younger man had to <em>say </em>it. Because Wilson shouldn’t have the <em>fucking right</em> to look that good, bare-chested and flush. And it made House grit his teeth because all he wanted was to possess him – just another addiction he was falling prey to.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>And just like that, Wilson tipped his world on its axis. House’s heart pounded heavily; after all, he was merely a red-blooded male. He was off the couch as fast as he was able – what with those missing muscles in his thigh – scrambling in a way that probably bordered on desperate. But it didn’t matter, because he had managed to convince Wilson to let House tie him up.</p>
<p>“Bedroom,” House bit out, bullying the younger man before him quickly as if he were worried Wilson would change his mind. Which he kind of was, even if he would never admit.</p>
<p>In the bedroom, the oncologist merely rolled his eyes and huffed when House selected the green tie as the one they’d use – the <em>seduce and fuck</em> tie that House had a love-hate relationship, because Jimmy only wore it when he was on the hunt but damn did it look good on him. But seemingly intrigued, Wilson simply pushed his sweats down and climbed onto the bed, nestling back against the pillows so House could utilize the slotted headboard, eyebrows raising over darkly hungry eyes. And he struggled out of his clothes as fast as possible.</p>
<p>House straddled Wilson’s waist and wound the heavy silk around narrow wrists, pulling tight and reveling in the way the green broke up the monotony of pale skin. He rubbed his thumb along the seam where silk met flesh. Glancing down, his breath punched out of him – because Jimmy’s pretty mouth was right there. If he shifted a bit, House could feed the other his cock, and arousal bolted through him. He swallowed hard and cocked an eyebrow in question, pretending to be unaffected.</p>
<p>“Too tight,” he asked softly, earning him a surprised sound. Wilson looked up at him through impossibly long lashes, dark eyes blinking rapidly as if the younger man’s mind had shorted out briefly at being asked about his comfort.</p>
<p>“Only if you were wanting me to slip free whenever I wanted.”</p>
<p>“My, my Jimmy.” House pulled the silk a little tighter, pulling Wilson’s arms up and over his head. He <em>swore</em> he could feel the soft exhale of the other’s breathing on the skin of his erection, and his dick definitely twitched at that. House pushed that thought away. “Shoulda known you’d have a kinky sex life. Was it Bonnie? It’s always the quiet ones.”</p>
<p>Under him, Wilson groaned heavily. “Can you <em>please</em> not mention my ex-wife while you’re tying me up for sex?” Which that hadn’t been a resounding <em>no</em>, and House chuckled.</p>
<p>“On second thought, it was Sam wasn’t it. Experimenting is perfectly normally in college.”</p>
<p>“I swear to God, House.” Wilson’s tone was sharp, and House chuckled as he brought the oncologist’s hands to a slat. Deft fingers curled around the intrusion automatically. There was something trusting in the whole thing, and it made a curious thing curl low in his belly.</p>
<p>“Did she flog you,” House teased as he wound the silk around the slat, pulling the fabric tight and cinching Wilson’s wrists to the headboard. He double knotted the tie, tugging the ends and watching as the silk slithered against itself, tightening.</p>
<p>“Before you ask, I am not letting you do that. The tie is enough; God forbid you bring home a riding crop or something.”</p>
<p>“Riding crop. That screams of Julie. Did she welt your hips as she fucked you with a strap-on?”</p>
<p>“I hate you.” That pretty mouth pursed into a frown, cheeks darkening fetchingly.</p>
<p>“Kinky,” House leered down at Wilson. That lovely flush on the younger’s cheeks had crept down his neck, stained his chest. Tenderly, he drew his fingertips down Jimmy’s chest, cataloging the softened ridges of the other’s breastbone. “Pull.”</p>
<p>He watched the shift of muscle as Wilson tugged at the tie. The younger man squirmed a bit on the sheets, as though that would help him get a better angle for leverage and ineffectually pulled again. Those broad hands curled back around the slat, that chin tipping up to level bedroom eyes at House. Wilson shuffled a bit more, worming his way up the bed until his elbows could bend, falling out as though his hands were merely tucked under his head.</p>
<p>“How long’s this for, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Haven’t decided.”</p>
<p>“House!”</p>
<p>House licked along his bottom lip in thought as he slipped to the side so he could drag his gaze down the supine form in front of him. And Jesus – Jimmy really was pretty. And the younger’s man pulse was thrumming delightfully under the thin skin of his throat. House drew his fingertips down along the oncologist’s smooth chest, dragging his nail sharply over a nipple – which elicited a hiss and squirm from Wilson – before sliding along the vague definition of Jimmy’s ribs. House could feel the muscles there flinching. He pressed his palm against a padded hip, sliding down and over that lovely thigh, squeezing.</p>
<p>Wilson’s legs slid open instinctively, offering whatever House wanted. And House leaned forward to press a kiss to that throat, slurping at the skin as he pushed Wilson’s legs wider – kissing and nipping along Wilson’s neck, pulling at the younger man’s thigh so they spread further. He drew his thumb along the join of Wilson’s thigh and groin, completely ignoring all reproductive organs.</p>
<p>Well, with his hand anyway. It was a little impossible for him to ignore Jimmy’s dick visually – hard and curving toward his softening stomach. Technically, penises weren’t meant to be visually appealing; they were meant to do a one thing – but of course, Wilson had to have a pretty dick. Just like the rest of him, and it was a little infuriating, to be honest. Thick and flushed, the head of it already slick, somewhere between eight and nine inches – they’d measured it once while drunk, but he couldn’t remember what they’d decided on, though he thought it seemed closer to nine. And if he looked close enough, House knew he’d be able to see the circumcision scar – just a slight change in color.</p>
<p>“House,” the other bit out, twisting a bit in the silk. And maybe he’d been staring. Just a bit.</p>
<p>“Just looking.”</p>
<p>“You tied me up to <em>look</em>,” Wilson huffed out, chest collapsing a little as the air rushed from his lungs. House leaned up and pinched his nipple sharply, earning him a yelp.</p>
<p>“Thought I was the bratty one.”</p>
<p>“You are.” Jimmy’s cheeks were flushed, his still-drying hair falling into those dark eyes. If House were honest with himself, he would admit that he’d had a few rent boys in his bed, looking like Wilson and in the exact same position – stretched out for perusal and ruination. And Christ, did he want to ruin Jimmy. He wanted the younger man to limit himself to House’s bed.</p>
<p>But instead, House shuffled across the bed on his knees to straddle the oncologist’s thighs. He leaned forward and ran possessive hands from hips to shoulders – leaning forward just enough for his erection to brush Wilson’s. The slight velvet-steel slide of it made Wilson whine, his hips rolling upward. House pressed his mouth to the crook of the other’s neck, grinding his hips down as his hands mapped that firm chest, feeling the heart beneath it thump and pound. He slid back on Wilson’s thighs just enough for Wilson’s cock to press against his stomach, his own slipping against that perfect ass in a mimicry of fucking.</p>
<p>Damn. He should have utilized lube – but the soft, dry slide of skin on skin was catching in the best way.</p>
<p>He breathed heavily, a hand cupping the fragility of Wilson’s neck while his other slid along those heaving ribs. It was hard – pun intended – to keep the slow rhythm, his hips pushing and pulling idly. The drag of their skin, the feel of Jimmy under him, the fucking <em>scent and sight </em>of him all pulled at some eons-old instinct to just fuck down into the younger man, to chase his pleasure to completion. But there was only so long he could, feasibly, keep Wilson in his current position – and there were things he wanted to do. Things Jimmy normally shied from, and frotting wasn’t one of them.</p>
<p>Breathy gasps filtered into his ears – and Jimmy even <em>sounded </em>pretty, damn him. The headboard groaned a bit at an assumingly aborted pull, the silk having held, since broad palms didn’t come down to grip his shoulders.</p>
<p>“House,” Wilson panted, the headboard creaking again. His palm slid from the younger man’s neck along his arm, feeling the bicep flex, the soft skin shift. Elbows weren’t meant to be erotic, but he found himself thinking that Jimmy’s was as his palm pulled over it so his fingers could curl around the sharp line of a flexed brachioradialis muscle. He could feel it quiver as Wilson jerked again, his hard length grinding up against House’s stomach.</p>
<p>“Wilson,” he teased – refusing to admit his voice was a bit breathless – as he drew his stubbled jaw along the tender throat so willingly offered to him. It dragged a sharp gasp from the younger man, earned him a hard buck upward. Which that was interesting – not exactly surprising, but normally Wilson pushed his head away, complaining about rugburn and in his current position, all the oncologist could do was take it as House made his way down the younger man’s body.</p>
<p>He scraped the bristle of hair over a nipple, earning him a gasping keen. House soothed the scuff with the flat of his tongue, humming in approval at the slick glide of Wilson’s cock grinding into the softness right above his navel. Lifting his head, he was pleased with the bright red of the friction rub contrasting with the pale chest. Not to mention, Wilson’s nipple had peaked and looked good enough to eat – he leaned back down and nipped at the rigid flesh before dragging his tongue along it wetly.</p>
<p>Jimmy’s moan was a rumbling thing, his legs spreading in a clear <em>fuck me</em> gesture. He really was perfect, wasn’t he. House glanced upward – taking in the long line of throat, Wilson’s head thrown back and arms lined in sharp relief with the active pull. Lifting just barely, he could make out that dark head thrown back in stark contrast with the white of the pillow, pretty pink lips open as the younger gasped in air, eyes screwed shut leaving long lashes a dark crescent on flushed cheeks. His body shifting and quivering with needy energy, restlessly grinding under House’s weight.</p>
<p>Smugly, House rubbed his jaw along the flat plane of Wilson’s sternum, following the rough scratch with sucking, open-mouth kisses, the tip of his tongue drawing lazy patterns on smooth skin. He scrubbed his jaw over the other nipple, drawing it between his lips for a hard suck. He drew his teeth over the bud before pressing the flat of his tongue against it hard, pushing the wet muscle downward. His mouth followed the path.</p>
<p>House rubbed his jaw along Wilson’s ribs, ghosting downward and completely ignoring the red of the burn in favor of sucking along the oncologist’s hip, nipping as he went. Who’s to say why the skin pulled along a hipbone was perfect, but he decided to suck a love bite into it, decided it was <em>perfect</em> for it. Wilson yelped and squirmed under him as House’s cheeks hollowed, pulling flesh and underlying fat into his mouth, pressure mounting. With his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, House could feel the swell of his soft palate as he sucked. He let go of his mouthful of supple flesh with a wet pop.</p>
<p>“Did you just give me a <em>hickey? </em>Christ, House! What are you – sixteen?” But there was a breathlessness to Jimmy’s tone, not to mention a dick practically drooling precum digging into his chest, that made him think Wilson liked it.</p>
<p>Leaning back, he inspected the mark – the pale skin flushed, spit-slick. He could see where the capillaries had burst, where the surface had bruised. The edges of it a bright, angry red and the center of it a deep purple. It sparked something possessive in him – like House had laid claim to the supine form presented before him. He leaned forward, pulling his tongue along the mark, tasting the copper-sweet blood just under the surface before shifting his head marginally and capturing another mouthful.</p>
<p>Wilson squirmed and whined, the headboard creaking as House sucked love bites into that delightful skin, settling between widespread legs as he peppered pale skin with marks of something dangerously close to devotion. He curled a hand around a hip and discovered that one of the marks sat under his thumb, that he could feel the throb and heat of it when he gripped the younger man. And he marveled at the sound Jimmy made as he pressed in against it, as the pressure of it tore a guts-deep groan from the younger man, jerking his hips upward.</p>
<p>He drew his jaw along the soft, tender lower belly – feeling the muscles jump and jerk at the sudden, abrasive touch. House nosed along the smattering of hair from navel to groin, placing sucking kisses. His tongue dragged through the puddle of cooling precum – the taste of it an almost sharp bitter-salt that made his dick jump in a Pavlovian response, a rather clear indication he had come to associate the taste of Jimmy with sex.</p>
<p>“Greg!” The tone was bright with anxiety as Wilson’s thighs flexed, trying to close his legs – but the younger man had made the mistake of letting House settle between them, so they merely clenched around his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he teased, making sure to breathe out hotly on the other’s cock. Yep, he could see the circumcision scar. The length of Wilson’s dick glimmered with smeared precum from where he’d ground up against House. He didn’t need to glance down to see that the same batch of precum was also smeared into the wiry hairs smattered on his chest and stomach.</p>
<p>“Do <em>not</em> rub your stubble on my dick!”</p>
<p>Which was kind of like telling a kid not to push a button. So, he did – brush his stubble along that pretty cock, not push a button.</p>
<p>Wilson squeaked and squirmed, even as House’s hands planted on his hips and held him firmly to the mattress. House drew his chin along the delicate skin, tracing the curve of the length and feeling Wilson’s dick twitch at the abrasion, keeping his touch as light as possible. A quivering moan reached his ears as Wilson’s thighs clenched around his shoulders crushingly, his toes curling hard in the small of House’s back while the balls of his feet pressed down in <em>probable </em>pleasure-pain. Or at least, he hoped. That slick cockhead slid along the underside of his jaw, rasping wetly against the stubble as House pressed forward, receiving a wet kiss at his throat when the tip brushed the skin above his Adam’s apple. He made sure to maintain the drag of bristle over fragile flesh as he drew back, chin tipped down to pull the moment as long as possible.</p>
<p>Who cared if he had precum in his stubble – it would dry. And it had totally been worth it. Because Wilson’s head was back, teeth gritted as if that would stifle the whine trapped behind his teeth. The long line of his throat flexed as the oncologist swallowed hard.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” Wilson breathed out, tone an odd combination of fondness, irritation, and arousal.</p>
<p>“You love me,” he quipped – ignoring the pooling warmth as he said those words aloud – and slid his palms along Jimmy’s thighs, up over his hips. House took in the sight of Wilson spread out on the covers. All pretty and flushed, littered with dark marks and fading red scrapes, his cock steadily dripping delightfully. And God, he wanted him. House swallowed hard.</p>
<p>“At best, I tolerate you,” Wilson returned petulantly – eyeroll implied – but a small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. House swallowed hard and shuffled from between Jimmy’s legs.</p>
<p>“Roll over,” House mumbled, his hands pulling encouragingly at Wilson’s hips. He had plans in mind, not that he was going to tell Jimmy that. And the oncologist huffed a sigh and cut an almost irritated look at him but wiggled in the sheets, managing to get an elbow under him as his hips and legs twisted. And the awkward struggle of it shouldn’t have been so sexy, but it was – the way Jimmy’s muscles bunched, and his bones jutted in a lovely array of human anatomy. It would have gone faster if House helped, but then he wouldn’t have gotten that lovely little sight, would he.</p>
<p>It took some doing, but Wilson managed to roll over to some extent. But House took in the twist of fabric, of the younger man’s wrists and almost winced. Wilson’s hips were pressed firmly to the mattress, legs spread seemingly in invitation, and House shuffled on his knees to straddle that peachy ass, cock nestling between cheeks as if that ass had been made for him. He drew his palms heavily down the smooth back in front of him, thumbs tracking the skeletal system just under thin skin.</p>
<p>As his thumbs reached the base of the spine, he pushed in and ran them back along the spinal column, feeling the sharp juts of Wilson’s vertebrae. His palms dragged over the sturdy cage of his ribs, the lifted ridges of his shoulder blades. And Wilson arched under him with an appreciative hum, pressing firmly into House’s hands like an overgrown housecat. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the nape of the younger man’s neck, his hand curling over the skin there as if to keep his kiss in place.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he breathed out against warm skin, tone almost reverent as his lips moved downward, stubbled jaw ghosting as he went. His palm smoothed along heaving ribs as he placed sucking kissing along the curve of the other’s spine, eventually having to shift downward. He nipped at the skin stretched thin over the back of the ribcage.</p>
<p>“Greg,” Wilson returned, grinding his hips down, even as muscles flexed and pressed back into his palms. “Would you just fuck me already.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” he hummed as if in thought, as House squeezed those delightful hips, watching his thumbs bear down heavily into flesh – the give of it hotter than it should have been. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>House dipped down and placed a scattering of wet kisses along thin skin as he settled between Jimmy’s legs. His hands skimmed along the inside of lovely thighs until his thumbs could trace the seam where thigh became ass. Wilson shuddered a little at the ghost of a touch, grinding downward briefly with a whimper. House pulled his jaw along Wilson’s lower back thoughtfully as if searching for the perfect real estate. Finally, his mouth closed over the swell of Wilson’s love handle, and he sucked a mark into that skin as House’s hands slid up over Jimmy’s squirming hips and back down. House pulled his tongue over that dark bruise, teeth scoring at the throb of it. He pulled his stubbled jaw over the swell of Wilson’s ass, pressing a chaste kiss to the swell of the cheek.</p>
<p>“Hate to tell you, but I’m going to fuck you open with my tongue,” he murmured against the younger man’s skin, laying sucking kisses upward.</p>
<p>Wilson writhed, his legs closing around House’s chest, pulling at the silk around his wrists in clear indication of having heard. “House,” the younger man started, simultaneously tugging at his tie and trying to roll back over and accomplishing neither of those things. The leverage was wrong, not to mention House was taller – if only <em>just</em> – and all his weight was bearing down on the oncologist.</p>
<p>House licked at those enchanting dimples of Venus, drawing his bristle of stubble over them and watching the thin skin redden – and <em>God</em> how could Jimmy be so hot. He sucked at the supple flesh, scraping his teeth and stubble toward the curve of the other’s ass. He nipped at the swell of the cheek, earning him a yelp and a squirm.</p>
<p>“House,” the other bit out, and there was something like a warning in that tone. But House had never been big on heeding those, so he just hummed and slid his palms up over the swells of cheeks, squeezing as he went, thumbs slipping into the cleft slightly.</p>
<p> “Your ass is perfect; just a peach.” House nipped at the swell of it again, pressing his nose to skin and breathing hotly. He loved the sandalwood-lavender scent of the younger man, the sweet-musk of his sweat. He drew his tongue along flesh, the taste of Jimmy sparking in his mouth. Sucking kisses were laid and followed by the brush of stubble as House gripped cheeks tightly, thumbs digging into the cleft. He chuckled at the squeak that Wilson let out, at the feel of his glutes clenching as if the younger man really had a say in the matter – bound as he was.</p>
<p>“And peaches are made for eating,” he said, prising that perfect ass open and dipping his head to lick along the other’s cleft. The noise Jimmy made was something he should have been ashamed of – House would have if the noise had come from him, something high-pitched and keening. But House hadn’t made the noise, so he didn’t really care and instead settled on humming to himself as he laid sucking kissing along fragile skin, working downward toward that puckered entrance.</p>
<p>He pressed the flat of his tongue over Wilson’s hole, being mindful of teeth, and just memorizing the sensation of the muscle fluttering and clenching. He could feel saliva already pooling behind his teeth, dribbling from his opened mouth. Who could blame him for want to make a mess of Wilson. And poor Jimmy, trapped under him, was squirming, his muscles flexing, making some delightfully breathy noises.</p>
<p>House moved downward, making sure to exhale on Wilson’s hole as he went, laid sucking kisses down Wilson’s perineum. He laved at the taunt skin of the younger man’s sac before dragging his tongue back the way he’d come. House placed a sucking kiss to the fluttering muscle of Wilson’s entrance, carefully placing his face so that his nose was pressed firmly against Jimmy’s crack – each breath dragging in the sweet-sweat smell of Wilson into his lungs – and his bristly chin pressed against the tender skin near the bottom of his cleft. Every jerk of Wilson’s body bore that stubble against flesh and pulled breathless, cracked-out whimpers from under the cage of the younger man’s chest. And for someone who had been so against the idea, House was pretty sure Wilson was enjoying himself.</p>
<p>His tongue alternated from the hot flat of it down to the pointed tip of it, drawing aimless designs and wetly licking. He curled his tongue and pressed it to the center of Jimmy’s hole, breaching the muscle just slightly and letting his tongue fall flat before pulling back to exhale hotly along wet skin. The gasping breaths of the oncologist sounded a bit like music to his ears and left him feeling rather smug as House pulled back, staring hungrily down at spit-slick skin and the clenching rim of the younger man. He pressed his thumb to that fluttering muscle, tip digging in and pulling just a little.</p>
<p>“Greg,” Jimmy panted, and he tracked his gaze along the other’s spine, watching his arms flex and pull.</p>
<p>“Don’t rush me,” he grumbled, leaning back down and licking an idle stripe down Wilson’s cleft, having sucked on his tongue to gather saliva to it. And the filthy slide of it was making his cock throb, dragging a moan from his chest, as well as a subsequent groan from Jimmy as the vibrations rumbled into his skin, his hips jerking back in surprise. Before long, his jaw would start to ache – in the best possible way – but still he needed to get to it.</p>
<p>If the noises Wilson had been making before couldn’t be classified as embarrassing, the noise the younger man emitted when House drove his tongue past his clenching rim certainly was. Some sort of a surprised, punched out and quivering whimper-whine that seemingly got hung up high in his throat as his squirming intensified and his hips pressed back. Smugly, House merely crushed the younger man’s hips to the bed and, true to his word, did his damnedest to fuck Jimmy open with his tongue with shallow thrusts.</p>
<p>Jerking back, he had to squeeze the base of his dick to keep from cumming, spilling all over that perfect ass as he swallowed hard. It really was unfair that Wilson sounded that good. He pressed fingertips to Wilson’s hole, gathering spit on them and just barely fucking them down into Jimmy – watching as they sunk in slightly, catching on the quivering rim. Hips rolled backward to meet the motion, forcing his fingers in deeper with a soft moan.</p>
<p>“Jesus Jimmy,” he groaned, spreading his fingers to glimpse that clenching tunnel of brand-hot muscles. “You take me so well,” House whispered, leaning down to lick into that spread-open orifice, fucking his tongue down as far as he was able. And <em>that</em> elicited an almost-shout, Wilson’s hips jerking back hard enough that he left the bed, knees scrambling to get under him properly – though House wasn’t entirely sure if it was to get <em>closer to</em> or <em>farther</em> <em>from </em>House’s mouth.</p>
<p>So, as a precaution – House banded an arm around those hips and hauled Wilson back against his mouth, pressing his tongue in deep. He could feel that pretty cock jump against his arm, the slick precum smearing along his skin where the other had leaked against the sheets. Curling his tongue, he fucked down deeper, sliding his fingers with that slick muscle, groaning as Jimmy bucked against his mouth with a whine. House thrust down, curling his fingers as he pulled back only to repeat the motion as Wilson panted and whimpered delightfully. He would happily eat the other man’s ass until his jaw fucking <em>broke</em> if only Wilson would keep making those noises, pressing back into him, lifting his hips impatiently.</p>
<p>But already his orgasm was sparking along his sensory system, his pulse thundering in his ears. And House had to jerk back, nipping at a cheek as he dragged his fingers free. He pressed a kiss to the thin skin of Wilson’s lower back before stretching toward the bedside table for the lube. His cock dragged along that spit-slick cleft and he groaned, dropping his forehead to a taunt shoulder and panting. Jimmy’s hips were still lifted – in the perfect doggy style position – but House had other ideas. Still, it was impossible not to rock his hips to that lovely ass, his dick tucked into the cleft as it was.</p>
<p>“Trying to kill me, Jimmy,” he panted out, grinding his hips down as his fingers curled around the bottle of lube, thumb clicking it open as he pulled back.</p>
<p>Wilson huffed out a laugh, twisting his head to the side – cheeks flushed and lids heavy, his bottom lip bite-swollen. “You’re one to talk.” His shoulders relaxed just a little, bones sinking back into flesh as his gaze followed House drizzling lube over his fingers.</p>
<p>House leaned back, smoothing slick fingers along Wilson’s cleft, before catching at Jimmy’s entrance and screwing two fingers in, pressing against that clench. His forehead rested against the sweat-slickened skin of Wilson’s shoulder, feeling the younger man’s ribs flutter as Jimmy whimpered and pushed back against the intrusion. House scraped his teeth along Wilson’s spine.</p>
<p>“Turn,” House bit out, jerking back and reaching down to clamp a hand down around the base of his dick, squeezing hard. Damn Jimmy – he really was too hot. The oncologist huffed and twisted, his shoulder rolling as he flopped back down on the bed. The flush had crept down his chest, staining the pale skin of his sternum. The love bites along his hips had seemingly darkened – probably from Jimmy grinding his hips down, or maybe from his arm – and House pressed a thumb down against one, reveling in the sharp gasp that shuddered out of Wilson’s throat, his head tilting back as his hips rolled up.</p>
<p>“Will you just fuck me already,” the younger man groaned, legs spreading. There was that interesting combination of irritation and arousal and fondness again, as if Wilson’s patience was wearing thin.</p>
<p>“I’m working on it,” House snarked, smoothing his palms along those widespread legs, scraping his thumbnails against the tender skin of Wilson’s inner thighs. He shuffled forward, manhandling Wilson’s knees to either side of his waist as his knees tucked under the swell of the younger man’s ass. Taking himself in hand, House stroked – spreading the lube along his shaft. The attention tugged at that hungry, aching feeling in his hips. Yeah, he wasn’t going to last – but it had been totally worth it. He clamped his fist around the base of his cock as he pulled Wilson closer, watching the stretch of the oncologist’s arms, muscles flexing against his skin as his grip on the headboard tightened, as he sunk into that perfect ass.</p>
<p>The feeling of Jimmy opening for him <em>always </em>drove his breath from his lungs, but the position was a novel one – his thigh would have never allowed it beyond the initial thrust, hunched over the younger man in a mantled position. But as it was, his thigh was fine and Wilson’s back was curving upward, hips tilting back as House sunk forward. The oncologist’s legs slid along the slats of his rib cage, his knees digging hard into that skin somewhere around House’s seventh rib. Calves flexed against House's back, feet digging into the small of his back as Wilson moaned his encouragement. That perfect ass clenched around his length. House leaned forward, planting his hand on the mattress near Jimmy’s chest for stability. His free hand slid along shuddering ribs before knotting in the covers near Wilson’s outstretched shoulder.</p>
<p>Wilson’s dark eyes peered up at him hungrily, pupils blown wide. That pretty, pink mouth was parted, his lashes fluttering as House bottomed out, and dammit – Jimmy had no right being that attractive.</p>
<p>He gave an experimental thrust, knees sliding open to give more power to the motion – a slow, rolling, downward grind that shook a gasp from Wilson’s chest. House shifted closer, and Wilson canted his hips upward, abdominals flexing at the motion. Those lovely thighs clamped against his sides; Wilson’s entire body clenching as dark brows lifted teasingly.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t feel like fucking,” Jimmy quipped breathlessly, giving a little wiggle of his hips.</p>
<p>House jerked his hips forward, choking out a surprised noise from Wilson’s throat. “I thought <em>I </em>was the brat.” But he leaned into it, putting more of his weight on his arms and driving his hips forward hard.</p>
<p>Whatever response Wilson was going to give was swept aside under his moan as House fucked down into the younger man as hard as he was able. He definitely wouldn’t be able to maintain that pace, but it was worth it to see Jimmy’s eyes flutter shut, his lips parting further around a chest-deep groan, knees digging into his sides as Wilson’s arms pulled tight and his knuckles jutted out bone white, while his whole body clenched. Wilson’s back bowed further, his cock smearing wetly against House’s stomach as he whimpered.</p>
<p>Yeah – he <em>definitely</em> wasn’t going to be able to maintain the pace.</p>
<p>Already pleasure was thundering through his veins, the pressure of his orgasm coiling tighter along the base of his spine – his dick doing that twitchy thing that preluded cumming. And Jimmy wasn’t helping, head tilted back, and lips parted around an obscene moan-whine noise as his hips lifted and his knees tightened, as his arms pulled at the headboard. Which <em>definitely </em>made Wilson tighten around him, a noise of pleasure-pain punching out of House, pulling his head downward and urging his hips onward.</p>
<p>And <em>God</em>, Wilson was good at that – at being tight and sexy and willing, letting House fuck into him frantically with whimpered-out moans, <em>welcoming </em>House’s cock deeper what with Jimmy’s hips canting backward and his ass clenching.</p>
<p>House increased his efforts, forcing Wilson’s elbows to bend a little if only to keep the younger man’s skull from connecting with the headboard. But Jimmy seemed to appreciate the brutal pace, his head tilting back and the long line of his throat flexing around those moans spilling so prettily past his lips.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p>
<p>His orgasm was hurtling down his spine, flooding hotly in his lower stomach, coiling tightly until House was fucking roughly in the oncologist – the younger man almost bent in half with the force of it, his knees pushed up near House’s fourth rib  – and chasing his own pleasure in the clenching heat of Wilson’s ass. His breath was gasping in his ears, barely heard over the pound of his pulse as he fucked into Jimmy and his orgasm coiled tighter and sharper around his spine until – unexpectedly – he was spilling deep into the younger man, grinding his hips down with a groan.</p>
<p>A few heartbeats of silence before Wilson huffed out a strained laugh. “Are you serious,” the younger man breathed out, head flopping back in exacerbation against the pillows as he drew in deep breaths.</p>
<p>But House just huffed out a heavy sigh before pulling out – his dick overly sensitive as the length of it slipped free from those clenching muscles – before mouthing his way down Jimmy’s chest, licking at skin laden with a sweat and soap-bitter taste. He mouthed at the curve of that pretty cock, his fingers curling around the base of it and pulling it somewhat straight so that he could swallow Jimmy down.</p>
<p>House slid as far down as he was able until his gag reflex kicked in, his mouth stretched around the velveteen length of Wilson’s cock – <em>definitely</em> closer to nine he noted. He hid his teeth behind his lips as he pushed down, sucking as he went until House felt that thick cockhead slide along his tongue and into his throat. He fought back the urge to wiggle and squirm uncomfortably against the intrusion and instead swallowed against it, making Wilson moan.</p>
<p>He bobbed his head, sucking heavily and drooling all over the thick length of Wilson’s cock. House swallowed it down, feeling his lips stretch over the girth of the other’s dick. And if he hadn’t just cum, House was fairly sure his own cock would be throbbing – especially given the low, hot throb of arousal in his guts at sucking the younger man off. The filthy, slick-slide of Wilson’s cock slipping into his mouth, rubbing against his tongue, pressing into his throat made him moan. And House gripped at those delightful thighs as he sucked that lovely cock.</p>
<p>Wilson’s hips jerked upward in obvious delight, wedging his thick cockhead into House’s throat before House pulled back – his throat abused and raw and pleasantly achy. He smoothed his palms along Wilson’s thighs, squeezing as he went as House bobbed his mouth along Jimmy’s length, sucking as he went, moaning softly.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t be so erotic – the feeling of that thick dick choking moans from his chest, his mouth salivating around said mouthful of dick, that hard length lodged into his throat . . . but it was. And already, arousal was pooling, burning in his guts, and House hurried his sloppy swallows against Wilson’s length, eager for the younger man to fuck into his throat until he spilled. He could hear the groan of silk, the creak of the headboard as Wilson pulled and tensed his arms as his hips rolled upward with a low, shuddering groan.</p>
<p>House moaned, forcing his lips down along Jimmy’s length, his fingers curling around the younger man’s hips. He bobbed his head quicker, sucking at the tip hard when his lips closed around it and pulling his tongue over the slit. And the sound of groaning silk was sexier than he had expected, and he forced his eyes to open – when had they drifted shut exactly? – and peered up through his lashes at Wilson. His shoulders were pressed firmly to the mattress, arms a taunt line and knuckles bone white as he gripped the headboard, hips jutted upward, and abdominals clearly flexed in some attempt to not fuck up into his mouth.</p>
<p>Jimmy was ever the considerate lover, wasn’t he.</p>
<p>He could hear the heavy drag of the other man’s breathing, and it always astounded him that Wilson lost pretty much all vocal ability when he was getting his dick sucked particularly good.</p>
<p>Drawing back – a string of saliva connecting that pretty cock to his lips, and <em>that </em>was hotter than it had any right being – House exhaled hotly at the wet length of it, leaning forward to tongue at Wilson’s slit. He reveled in the not-quite sharp, bitter-salt taste of Jimmy’s precum before sliding his mouth forward. Just the hint of teeth on that downward slide, scoring at the delicate skin as his tongue pressed firmly to the underside, feeling the heavy pound of that thick vein there. His cheeks hollowed as much as they were able before sliding back up to give a particularly vicious suck to that thick cockhead.</p>
<p>His fingers curled around the base, stroking skin slick with precum and spit lazily, before resuming the slow bob of his head. Because while he did enjoy deep-throating Jimmy, House’s jaw was starting to hurt – which he figured was a hazard of sucking dick, particularly thick ones. Drawing his teeth lightly over the ridge of the glans, House sunk down until his lips pressed against his fingers and sucked hard. He eased off, his mouth slack as he bobbed his head. And House idly wondered how long he keep Wilson in that strung-out place between orgasm and edge before Jimmy started complaining.</p>
<p>Which turned out to be <em>not long </em>as Wilson groaned. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he gasped out, and House could hear the rustle of fabric as the younger man threw his head back into the pillows. Another huffed out sigh. “House. Just untie me and I’ll go in the bathroom.”</p>
<p>House pulled back and leaned up – the straightening of his spine set off an ache from maintaining the curve of being bent over the younger man for so long. He gave Wilson a considering look, thinking things over. Dark eyes almost glared up at him, lips pursed petulantly.</p>
<p>“If you roll over, I’ll let you fuck my mouth.”</p>
<p>Those dark eyes blinked dumbly up at him, those pretty lips falling open in surprise. Wilson swallowed hard, mouth clicking shut as he continued to look up at House. He wagered he could see those pupils dilate further, something hungry darkening that gaze impossibly. And House raised an eyebrow at the stretching silence – especially since he was offering, and Wilson seemed willing enough.</p>
<p>“Unless you don’t want to.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Wilson started, before stopping to swallow hard. “I just . . . you’re sure?”</p>
<p>He thought about it more thoroughly then – Jimmy’s knees bracketing his head, fucking down into his slack mouth, setting the pace . . . the depth of those thrusts. Arousal wasn’t just a burning, pooling thing anymore – it was a fucking inferno, licking hotly at the insides of his guts, creeping up his chest. <em>Damn Jimmy </em>for waking up fucked up kinks he didn’t know he had!</p>
<p>“Offered didn’t I,” he griped, slipping from between those lovely thighs – because House had him, didn’t he. After so many years of him getting what he wanted from Wilson, he <em>knew</em> the other’s submission when he heard it – just there in the way the younger man breathed.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Wilson breathed out, eyes fluttering.</p>
<p>There was that awkward-sexy twist of human anatomy as Wilson rolled over, fingers clenching around the headboard as he forced the silk to give just enough to pull his wrists into a more comfortable position – which that said a bit about how long the whole thing might take, didn’t it. House traced his gaze along the curve of the other man’s spine, watching as Jimmy got his knees under him.</p>
<p>For a moment, he just slid his palm along the swell of Wilson’s hip – which the other took as hesitance.</p>
<p>“You really can just untie me, House.” One last chance to back out, because Wilson was nothing if not considerate.</p>
<p>Swallowing hard – because <em>Christ</em> he wanted – House slipped between those widespread knees. He tipped his head back and stared up at Wilson. Those eyes were like pools of tar – impossibly dark; just endless voids of sticky want. If it had been possible for him to get hard again – if age and Vicodin abuse and a particularly spectacular orgasm didn’t play into it – the look Jimmy was giving him would have done it. That hungry want punched into him, and he licked his lips in thought. Wilson’s gaze tracked that motion, eyes fluttering shut briefly.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he scoffed, palms smoothing up the outside of Wilson’s thighs, over the swells of his hips. “If you don’t fuck my mouth, I will leave you tied to the bed until work tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Wilson’s forehead pressed firmly against the pillows, eyes screwing shut as he breathed out something that sounded fairly close to <em>you’re gonna fucking kill me. </em>Which – maybe the other didn’t understand how blowjobs worked. Because as House looked up at the thick cock twitching and drooling in front of his lips, <em>more</em> than long enough to choke him, he thought he might be the one to die. It wasn’t like Jimmy was exactly <em>small.</em></p>
<p>“You’ll tell me if you need me to stop,” Wilson panted out. And his concern was touching, making something bloom alongside the inferno of want in his guts. “Pinch me or something.”</p>
<p>“Obviously,” House scoffed. “You think I’m just gonna let you choke me to death with your horse dick? I don’t think so Jimmy.” Which earned him an overly fond sounding huff of a laugh.</p>
<p>“Obviously,” Wilson mocked, dark eyes peering down at him. “Ready?”</p>
<p>He licked his lips again – more than a little bit just to see that hungry, wanting thing bloom in Wilson’s dark gaze – and pulled at the hips in his hands, squeezing a little as he did so. “C’mon.” His tongue slid along that leaking tip.</p>
<p>House told himself the best thing he could do was let himself go – just relax his jaw, let his mouth go slack. But he hadn’t really . . . thought about it, as Wilson’s cockhead slid past his lips in a stuttering little roll. He could hear the heavy drag of breath sucked in through the other’s nose, and House glanced upward. Those dark eyes were glued to his mouth, watching as Wilson carefully fed him his dick. He huffed a sigh through his nose and tilted his chin up, tugging impatiently at Wilson’s hips in a clear <em>fuck me</em> motion, pulling the younger man’s length in deeper.</p>
<p>The motion jerked a groan from Wilson, his eyes screwing shut as his face tilted to press firmly against the pillows. House closed his eyes, focusing on that feeling of Jimmy’s heavy cock against his tongue, stretching his lips, thick cockhead bumping into his throat. He swallowed, earning him a firmer press into his throat; Wilson’s hips rolling downward as if chasing that tightness. There was some sort of exquisite pleasure-pain at that sensation. The oncologist pulled back, legs spreading and shifting as if to find a more favorable position as his hips rolled experimentally. And House might have moaned, his eyes fluttering closed before he forced them open once more.</p>
<p>He could feel the muscles in Wilson’s hips jumping as he set the pace, having found the best position for it – given the lack of help he was getting from his arms. Wilson was somehow lovely like that, with his knees widespread, chest leaned forward just a little to put more weight on his arms – all his muscles in sharp relief. House could feel the heavy flex just under soft skin. He ran his palms along that feeling, humming softly as his eyes slipped shut once more.</p>
<p>If he had expected Wilson to just use him – and he kind of had, because <em>that</em> thought was a little hot – it didn’t happen. Because Wilson was fucking into his mouth infuriatingly carefully, only occasionally slipping into his throat – though that was delightful, and the cockhead slipping into that tightness was leaving him feeling raw. Hips were rolling down further, pressing the tip more firmly into his throat before pulling back. And it was apparent that Jimmy was <em>somehow</em> still thinking about his comfort, even with his dick working House’s mouth filthily like that – which that wouldn’t do.</p>
<p>House moved a hand, arm slipping between widespread legs to drag fingers along Wilson’s cleft, earning him a harder stutter of hips, a more ragged breath. He could feel where his spend had begun to leak, and that was sexier than it had a right to be, the slick of it mixing with residual lube as he rubbed two fingertips at that puckered muscle, feeling it flutter at his touch. His fingertips sunk in somewhat easily, Wilson’s hole still fucked loose, and House groaned at that thought. The combination of touch and sound pulled Wilson’s hips down harder, his dick pressing rather incessantly into House’s throat before pulling back. His fingers sunk in deeper, curling.</p>
<p>That was apparently the encouragement Wilson needed, as his hips jerked down roughly, quickly. House sucked in ragged, gasping breaths every time the younger man pulled back. He wished Wilson’s hands were in his hair, gripping his scalp as Jimmy fucked his throat – that broad cockhead pushing down into that tightness, because there was no mouth anymore . . . just dick meet throat, repeat. And if House was whimpering, well who could blame him – after all, he was practically choking on nine inches of dick only slightly smaller than the width of a 40DR prescription bottle. He swallowed hard, feeling his esophagus squeeze and flutter. His dick was giving a valiant attempt at hardening, twitching against his thigh as Wilson fucked down into him, and he squeezed that ass, head tipping up further in encouragement.</p>
<p>He could <em>feel</em> the slick rub of precum along the back of his throat as Wilson’s cock slipped what felt like impossibly deep, hips stuttering – each downward thrust seemingly longer than the last, that thick tip wanting to live in the tightness of his throat. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded, but it felt good, and he wanted the younger man to spill down his throat. House smoothed his thumb down along Wilson’s perineum, pressing inward to stimulate the prostate as he pulled his fingers out to catch at his fluttering rim.</p>
<p>Wilson sucked in a deep gasp of breath, entire body tightening as his hips jerked, as that lovely cock impossibly hardened further and the tip once more slipped into his throat as Jimmy came. House swallowed around the viscous liquid, that broad cockhead, whining as Wilson pulled back so his cock thrusted shallowly past his lips. He could hear the other’s shuddering breath, Wilson’s hips rocking as he came in House’s mouth, and House swallowed and sucked around that lovely cock, relishing in the sharp taste on his tongue.</p>
<p>The oncologist rolled to the side, his body twisted awkwardly, and House gasped in great, ragging mouthfuls of air. His thoughts were swimming. Swallowing hard – reveling in the sharp, ragged ache of his throat – House skimmed a palm along Wilson’s side, shuffling closer to press his forehead against the oncologist’s softening middle. Wilson made a little noise, and there was the muted groan of silk, a creak of the headboard.</p>
<p>“Minute,” House panted out, his voice sounding raw and fucked-out. Absolutely <em>wrecked</em> and that was pretty hot. The rasp of words against his throat made his dick twitch. Finally, House swallowed hard and tried to regulate his breathing, pressing closer to Jimmy before shoving himself upward. His fingers fumbled with the slick fabric, the knot having tightened from all the pulling and the skin of Wilson’s wrists clearly red, just barely darkening with bruising. And that reared something possessive in him.</p>
<p>“Christ,” Wilson whimpered, eyes blearily peering up at him as House undid the silk tie – and he swallowed hard, because he would never look at it the same. Jimmy could take whomever he wanted to bed, but nothing would ever take away what had just happened. That they fucked each other to within an inch of their lives, that the tie had played a substantial part in it. He had a sinking suspicion that Wilson might never be able to wear the tie again without House getting hard.</p>
<p>It took some doing, but eventually the silk loosened, and the knot finally slithered apart. Yep, his wrists were bruised, there at the sides where Wilson had yanked, and that possessive thing snarled in House’s guts. With his wrists free, Wilson tenderly cupped House’s neck, thumbs rubbing along the sore line of his esophagus, touch bearing down lightly.</p>
<p>“I hurt you,” Jimmy whispered, continuing the gentle massage. “You sound pretty wrecked.”</p>
<p>“I am,” House grumbled, leaning into the touch, and sinking against the pillows. “God, that was hot.” Which earned him a breathed-out huff of laughter, before soft lips pressed against his throat as if Wilson could kiss it better. Which was a stupid idea, and House hated that it was seemingly working.</p>
<p>“You owe me pancakes,” he whined, pulling Wilson down against him and hating how easy it was to slip into that post-sex intimacy as their legs tangled together and Wilson managed to tug half the comforter over them. Capable fingers slid through his hair as the younger man pressed tender kisses along the jut of his clavicle.</p>
<p>“Okay.” Wilson wormed closer, his breath ghosting along House’s neck. “Just gimme a minute.”</p>
<p> “After a nap,” House grumbled, tilting his head to bump against that soft, heavy hair.</p>
<p>“Should shower first. Maybe change the sheets.” Damn Wilson for ever being the voice of reason – even if the other man hadn’t made to move. Jimmy was still running fingers through House’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp and effectively lulling House toward sleep.</p>
<p>He merely hummed, letting his eyes drift close.</p>
<p>House woke an indeterminate time later – grossly sticky in an empty bed to the shrill chiming of his phone. Groaning, he rolled over and snatched it up. “What,” he growled, wincing at the rough quality of his voice and swallowing just to feel that ache. Arousal pulled through his sensory system, pooling heavily in his lower abdomen.</p>
<p>“You’re late,” Cuddy snapped in his ear, followed closely by a dial-tone.</p>
<p>Huffing, House flopped over on his back. His body ached in the best possible way, his head tipping back into the pillows as his chest collapsed with a sigh. The stretch of his throat as House swallowed made his cock twitch against his thigh. Rolling over, he climbed out of the messy bed and made his way to the bathroom, skin tacky and body aching.</p>
<p>In the kitchen, he found macadamia nut pancakes as he pulled up his jeans and fastened them. Wilson had long since gone, but the coffee machine was still on and his pancakes were still slightly warm to the touch. He crammed one into his mouth, chewing quickly as he stuffed his feet into shoes and headed for the door, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him.</p>
<p>And at Princeton-Plainsboro, Wilson was in the clinic at the desk – scrawling on a tab while some nurse flirted with him and the oncologist flirted back on mindless instinct. That stabbed some sharp emotion down under his guts . . . until Wilson turned a tired but lovely smile in his direction, handing over the prescription pad sheet to the nurse before striding toward House. He could see the bruises along Wilson’s wrists just barely peeking out from under his cuffs.</p>
<p>“I found the pancakes,” House huffed, heading for the elevator.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad. I didn’t exactly hide them from you.” Wilson stepped in alongside him, tucking his hands into his pockets and decidedly not looking at House.</p>
<p>“Pfft – that’s just your excuse since you suck at hide-and-seek.”</p>
<p>Wilson chuckled, his head tipping back slightly, blinking slowly at the fluorescent lighting. And thankfully, the elevator was empty because House was looking at those lashes fascinated, watching them drift lazily in a clear cat-that-got-the-cream way. Watching those dark eyes glitter, the lighting casting shadows in espresso dark irises, highlighting flecks the color of cold honey. Watching those lips pull languidly in an almost-smile.</p>
<p>“How’re you feeling?”</p>
<p>“I’m not the one that was tied to the bed,” he reminded the younger, pulling his attention away from those lashes, those dark rum-coffee eyes, and toward the elevator doors. House could see a blurry reflection of them there – their edges smeared by burnished metal.</p>
<p>“Right.” A beat of silence, and he could hear it as Wilson’s lips curled smugly. “You just sound like you’ve had tubing crammed down your throat.”</p>
<p>The elevator drifted to a stop, doors dinging open before House could think of a scathing response. So, he settled for <em>shut up </em>as he pushed out of the elevator. He wasn’t walking quickly toward his office, nope. And he wasn’t ignoring Wilson as the younger man walked at a more leisurely pace behind him.</p>
<p>House pushed into his office, turning to address the ducklings and catching sight of Wilson out of his peripheral – the younger man’s hands crammed into his pockets, his smile fond. He shook stupidly endearing thoughts away and gave Chase a look as he took in the symptoms on the whiteboard. “Did you touch my markers?”</p>
<p>The blond held his hands up in a clear gesture of innocence, eyes wide as he glanced downward. “It wasn’t me,” Chase promised.</p>
<p>He glared at the symptoms – mind ticking through possibilities regarding the <em>very </em>vague symptoms of fever, chills, headache, fatigue, muscle and joint pain, and swollen lymph nodes. House scrubbed a palm along his jaw, throwing his head back with a groan – the stretch of his throat a delightful ache as he swallowed. “This case sucks – it won the lottery on <em>vague</em> symptoms that could be pretty much anything.” He threw himself down in his chair with a groan.</p>
<p>Cameron gave him a look, thumping the marker against her palm. “Why do you sound like that.”</p>
<p>“Because Wilson has a big dick,” he mocked, wobbling his head for effect at her before gesturing toward the whiteboard. “Can we focus here.”</p>
<p>“So we’ve heard,” Foreman slid the file forward on the table. “Patient is an active sixty-year-old. Says she eats clean, no alcohol consumption or use of tobacco products. Her medical . . .”</p>
<p>“What does that have to do with anything,” Cameron cut in, attention firmly on House and decidedly not on the vague list of symptoms.</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, House scoffed – the sound rasping along his bruised throat. “Well, Cameron. When a mommy loves a daddy very much sometimes she . . .” and his sentence trailed off, as Wilson poked his head in through his office door.</p>
<p>“You got a second?”</p>
<p>“Speaking of daddy,” he quipped, shoving himself to his feet with a leer. One of Wilson’s eyebrows quirked upward in question, the edges of his mouth twitching.</p>
<p>“I’m not even going to ask,” Wilson huffed out sounding vaguely amused as he brandished a purple folder in his direction. “Need a consult.” The oncologist pulled back into the hallway.</p>
<p>“Start the patient on fluids and antiviral meds. Run blood cultures, an autoimmune panel. Gotta go save a baldie.” House pushed out into the hallway, watching as Wilson paced a bit, folder pressed against his chest. He waited for the children to push out after him to say, “Hiya daddy.” For theatrical purposes only, of course. And it was harder to ignore the swell of arousal that bloomed in his stomach at those words than he would have thought – damn Wilson, awakening all those fucked-up kinks.</p>
<p>Wilson’s lips twitched again in an aborted smile, dark eyes glittering. “Aren’t you a little old for sexual exploration?”</p>
<p>House scoffed as he held his hand out for the folder. “You like it.” He clenched his fingers opened and closed, “Gimme.”</p>
<p>Wilson held the file against his chest. “Cuddy wants to know if you’re getting sick – I’m assuming because you sound like you’ve smoked eight packs a day for most of your life.”</p>
<p>“Whose fault is that. And why is the hospital talking about your dick.”</p>
<p>Eyebrows jumping upward at the abrupt change in subject. “Ah . . . because they think it’s worth talking about? I don’t know. Who said something? And what do you want me to tell Cuddy?”</p>
<p>“That you’ve got a big dick, obviously,” he replied with a snort, turning toward the lab – if only so House didn’t have to see Wilson roll his eyes.</p>
<p>“Obviously,” the younger man huffed out behind him, and House ignored him.</p>
<p>House pushed through the heavy metal doors of the lab, watching as Foreman dribbled blood into test tubes of broth – the younger man bent over the counter and giving the tubes a little swirl before setting them aside to start on the panel.</p>
<p>“Why are you – a neurologist – doing the autoimmune panel, instead of oh . . . I don’t know. Say Cameron, an immunologist.”</p>
<p>“Why are you bugging me.” Foreman didn’t even glance up, attention still firmly on the procedure in front of him. “Besides, Cameron got called down to intake; something about a missionary with suspected Chagas disease. I told her I’d do it.”</p>
<p>He leaned against the counter. “Who mentioned Wilson’s dick.”</p>
<p>“And why do you care.”</p>
<p>“Curiosity,” House replied with a shrug, which earned him an exaggerated sigh.</p>
<p>“Ask Chase.”</p>
<p>“Ugh! But mom,” he groaned dramatically. Foreman finally turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>“I thought <em>you </em>were mom?”</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, House turned away. “Fine. But only <em>I </em>get to call Wilson daddy,” he huffed out, heading for the door. “Where’s the wombat.”</p>
<p>“Taking the patient history again.”</p>
<p>He found Chase stepping out of, he assumed, their patient’s room. Glancing in as he passed, House caught site of woman reclining on the bed, her hair a shock of dyed pink over a pale face, as he chased after the blond. “Hey.”</p>
<p>Chase ground to a halt, turning around as he pushed his hands into his pockets. House pushed past him, leaving the younger man to follow him.</p>
<p>“So, who mentioned Boy Wonder’s assets?”</p>
<p>“Ah . . .” and he didn’t need to look around to see the younger man’s surprise. House could hear it in Chase’s tone, in the hesitation of his voice. “Er, Kelley. Doctor Brown’s nurse practitioner.” He turned around to the younger man, eyebrow raised in question which earned him a shrug as Chase’s hands lifted in question, palms facing upward. “I dunno. Kelley just . . . mentioned it, amongst other things. And well . . .” Shrugging once more, Chase held his hands apart in a vague approximation of Wilson’s size, eyebrows tilted upward.</p>
<p>Intrigued, he spun away from the blond, heading off in search of Wilson.</p>
<p>House found Jimmy in the cafeteria, picking at a <em>clearly </em>underdressed salad and flipping through a medical chart. “Are you cheating on me,” he screeched – gaining them hardly any curious looks from the various staff strewn about in the plain room. Though a few people not in scrubs or doctor coats looked around in surprise. It wasn’t exactly the win he had been hoping for, as House threw himself down in the chair opposite Wilson, but he would take it.</p>
<p>“I should have known,” House gasped out, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically.</p>
<p>“It surely couldn’t have come as a shock,” Wilson quipped, gaze still firmly on his file, fingers flipping through paperwork aimlessly. House hated the way his chest deflated at those words, his guts coiling with unease because there was that unsettling <em>worry </em>of Jimmy finding his way <em>seriously</em> into someone else’s bed.</p>
<p>“Who’s Kelley, the nurse practitioner.”</p>
<p>And that drew Wilson’s gaze upward, brow furrowed in thought. “Kelley? Like Brown’s Kelley?”</p>
<p>“Yes, that Kelley,” House mocked. “Is she prettier than me? Tighter ass? Two working legs?”</p>
<p>“<em>He </em>is one of Julie’s friends. They met at the oncology gala last spring.” Those dark brows lifted in surprise. “Did he mention it?” And Jimmy’s voice had gone a little squeaky at that, his head falling forward to press his face into his palms with a groan. “Oh God. You have <em>got</em> to be kidding me.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Never took Julie as an over-sharer.” Those dark eyes glared at him through Wilson’s fingers, before the younger man shoved himself abruptly and stalked off, already jerking the phone out of his pocket. House picked aimlessly at the combination of lettuce and spinach, lost in thought.</p>
<p>House found Kelley – a tragically stereotypical gay man, with tight grey slacks and a lavender sweater in something that House figured might have been cashmere and one brightly glimmering stud in his right earlobe – in the oncology breakroom. The man pulled tortoiseshell glasses down to the tip of his nose, and bright green eyes glittered at him in amusement.</p>
<p>“Why, Doctor House – what a pleasure to see you.” Nails glossy with clear fingernail polish flipped through what appeared to be a fashion magazine before brushing clearly dyed blond hair back aimlessly. “I think James is in his office.” And it grated on his nerves, hearing the other man purr out Wilson’s name. So, churlishly, House threw himself down on the worn-in leather couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, taking command of the remote.</p>
<p>“I heard . . . that you know about Little Jimmy – or Not-So-Little Jimmy I suppose.” He settled on an episode of <em>Bonanza </em>watching as Little Joe and Hoss made their way into town, trying for as nonchalant as possible.</p>
<p>“Julie gets a little talkative after a few glasses of wine,” Kelley returned, attention still on his magazine.</p>
<p>And luckily for him, Kelley was a dreadful gossip, as the other man continued. “I could tell you a number of things – like how James is considerate and caring but relatively uninvested when it comes to marital issues. Or how he works too much, jumping at any excuse to not come home, to not go out. Not to mention a little thing called Too Much Gregory House.” The magazine flipped closed, and Kelley pushed his glasses up on his head, folding his arms in front of him and giving House a look.</p>
<p>“I could tell you about any of those things – about the failing of their marriage – but you want to know about his penis.”</p>
<p>House clicked to the next channel – some Mexican cooking show. “Isn’t that what <em>you’d </em>want to hear about,” he quipped, watching the dark-headed woman on TV explain how to make pico de gallo.</p>
<p>“I guess that depends on whether or not I have a size kink, doesn’t it.” Kelley folded one leg over his knee, eyebrows lifting curiously. “What’s funny, though . . . is that Julie figured you would have already known. She was so certain you two were sleeping together.”</p>
<p>“It’s a new development,” House deadpanned.</p>
<p>Kelley’s eyebrows raised, impossibly, further. “So . . .” and the other man trailed off, bringing his hands up in front of his chest. “Just say when,” moving his palms further apart, eyebrows tipping upward. Huffing, the other man dropped his hands back to the table and gave House a look. “I’ll start again, shall I?” And again, those hands were pulling apart before pausing in an approximation of the length of Wilson’s dick and stopping.</p>
<p>“That’s alright, Julie’s a lush . . . not a liar.” Kelley’s hands folded over his lap. “I believe her, and I believe that James Wilson is a rather giving lover with a big penis. Is that what you wanted to know?”</p>
<p>“It’s not about him being Big Dick Wilson,” House ground out, getting to his feet to glare down at the other man, who merely tipped his head back to look at House. “Why are you telling people about it. Especially people like Chase – you know.” He leaned forward, cupping a palm around his mouth and whispering “S<em>traight </em>men” like it was something dirty.</p>
<p>Kelley laughed. “I’ve told more than just <em>straight </em>men. The thing is, Doctor House, that I <em>like </em>James. He’s a nice man, and people like him – but you’re quite a package deal, aren’t you. And that’s where it goes south. People think <em>oh I can have nice, smart, attractive Doctor Wilson</em> and then they remember that they must also have bratty Doctor House. And well, sometimes size goes a long way, no pun intended.” Kelley got to his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets with a look that was something like reflection. “Doctor Wilson deserves to be happy, doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>House gritted his teeth hard enough that his jaw muscles cramped as he watched the other man leave the breakroom. Which, that was true wasn’t it. Wilson deserved to be happy, and House didn’t really do <em>happy</em>. It was only a matter of time before Wilson moved into another person’s bed for more than just a pity fuck. And his heart <em>squeezed</em> at that thought.</p>
<p>He lost the afternoon in his case – though it was, begrudgingly admittedly, slightly more interesting than all the previous ones Cuddy had thrust upon them. But still, House took great glee in prescribing various rather <em>expensive </em>tests and procedures because <em>he </em>picked his cases, not some Dean of Medicine – nice tits or not. He also made a point to <em>not </em>do his clinical hours, not that he needed an excuse. And if he snuck out early, well . . . who could blame him. He was waiting on test results; no point hanging about the office, twiddling his thumbs.</p>
<p>Wilson was already home when House got there – the younger man’s shiny black shoes kicked up on the coffee table as he watched some mindless cooking show. And House slammed the door perhaps overly loud as he stepped through the jamb. And to his credit, Wilson didn’t look around at the noise.</p>
<p>“Why’re you mad,” the younger man intoned softly, his attention still on the cooking show. “The hospital isn’t talking about <em>your</em> genitals.”</p>
<p>“I’m not mad,” he groused, dumping his briefcase alongside Wilson’s – but Kelley’s words were punching into him because Wilson was attractive, not only the type of man to go home with but also to take home. Like meet the folks type of person, and House sighed. <em>His </em>parents had met Wilson.</p>
<p>“Kelley’s trying to get you laid.” House threw himself down on the sofa next to the younger man, perhaps closer than friends allowed for, before mirroring Wilson and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “He’s playing wingman to the soon-to-be-divorced Doctor Wilson.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Thought that’s what I had you for.”</p>
<p>“Oh please. I know you don’t need any help.”</p>
<p>Wilson knocked his shoulder into House’s with a snort of laughter. The touch lingered – just warm pressure where their bodies rested together. And House – <em>infuriatingly – </em>wanted to ask if Wilson was happy, if the whole falling-into-bed routine was as good for the younger man as it was for him. But that thought was stupid, so he brushed it away – crammed it down deep and buried it under his ribs.</p>
<p>House shoved himself to his feet and stepped over Wilson’s legs. He prowled over to the piano, feeling Wilson’s gaze on him. He plunked out the beginnings of a scale, before firmly closing the fallboard. Already the thought was sinking down into him, as he circled the body of the piano, sliding his fingers along the prop and closing the lid softly. His touch drew lovingly along the varnished wooden surface.</p>
<p>It only made sense to have Jimmy have him on the piano didn’t it – the combination of things precious to him. House rolled his eyes at himself because God, he really needed to get a grip. If he didn’t, the next thing he knew he’d be playing <em>In Your Eyes </em>for Jimmy with a heavy boombox held over his head.</p>
<p>He stepped around the bench and turned around to face Wilson, letting his hips tilt back against the piano. It took some doing, and it probably wasn’t half as sexy as he was trying for as he shimmied back on the piano. But Wilson was watching him with growing interest, so House figured he was doing a good enough job as he finally slipped back toward the lid. A small smile was tugging at Wilson’s mouth.</p>
<p>“What about . . .” House started, pushing his weight back onto the piano’s lid. He planted his feet on the bench, sliding them apart but knocking his knees together to look at Wilson over them. He braced his arms behind him and gave Wilson his best <em>come hither </em>look. “On the piano.”</p>
<p>“You, what,” Wilson breathed out, eyes having tracked House’s movements. “You want me to fuck you on the piano,” he reiterated as the younger man got to his feet.</p>
<p>“You saying you’re not interested?”</p>
<p>“I might be.” Despite the <em>might</em>, Wilson was stepping closer, his dark eyes glittering with clear interest. Broad palms rested over the knobs of House’s knees, squeezing. “Any particular reason.”</p>
<p>“It’s hot.” He shrugged. “Is that a no?” But already Wilson was pressing his knees apart and stepping over the bench between his legs, palms dragging heavily along his thighs as if in thought before spreading on the lid by his hips and leaning forward. House’s breath slipped away from him as Wilson bracketed him, eyes impossibly dark with arousal. “Just remember Jimmy, you break it you buy it,” House nearly whispered.</p>
<p>Wilson huffed out a small sound of amusement. “You’re not worried about someone peeking in?” His head was tipping down, lips nearly brushing House’s. He could feel the heat of the younger man’s breath fluttering against his mouth.</p>
<p>“That’s even hotter,” House mocked, tilting his head to look at the window – where the blinds were closed but angled just right for someone to glimpse the living room . . . if they really wanted. And if they could manage to stand in front of his building and not have someone say something. “Maybe it’ll be Cameron. Then we can ask her to join us.”</p>
<p>“You’re terrible at sharing,” Wilson reminded him, lips ghosting along the curve of his neck. “And we could have started this on the couch.”</p>
<p>“What are we? Teenagers?” House brought a hand around to push through that dark hair, fingers curling. “Only capable of making out on sofas. Jeez, Jimmy. Live a little.” Which earned him a sharp nip there at the hinge of his jaw, House’s fingers tightening on reflex. “Besides,” he gasped out, “you’re not the one with the ruined thigh.”</p>
<p>“True.” A broad hand found its way to said ruined thigh, palm rubbing lightly along the missing muscles in a curious gesture that shouldn’t have sparked a mushy emotion in him but somehow did. “How <em>is </em>the leg? Still alright? Any returning pain?”</p>
<p>House groaned, letting his head fall back in exasperation. “I thought you were gonna fuck me on the piano! Not ask about the damn leg.” Gritting his teeth, House righted his head and stopped, because the look Wilson was giving him was impossibly tender. And his heart fucking <em>squeezed</em> in his chest, working itself into knots of muscles and valves, into a latticework of veins and arteries. He swallowed heavily. “Leg’s fine, Jimmy.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Wilson allowed, head dipping forward to press soft lips against House’s lightly. It was chaste and tender and not at all what he wanted . . . at least he told himself that. Because he couldn’t let himself think anything else, couldn’t let himself fall down <em>that</em> rabbit hole. Not when Jimmy was treating him like something delicate and precious, rubbing his leg just right and kissing him so softhearted it hurt.</p>
<p>He parted his lips, tongue sliding along Wilson’s bottom lip in encouragement Jimmy didn’t really need, lips opening eagerly as he pressed closer. House tipped his head to the side, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid along Wilson’s, his fingers tightening in that heavy hair and his knees pressing against the younger man’s sides. Wilson leaned more heavily against him, their teeth clinking together lightly as the kiss deepened.</p>
<p>Jerking back, House ducked his head and laid sucking kisses along Jimmy’s neck. And that hand on his thigh was slipping upward, landing there at the vee of his legs – the younger man’s palm a hot weight along the throb of his cock. The rub of it was slow, maddeningly so, even as House hardened further in his jeans and his hips canted up into that touch.</p>
<p>Wilson dipped his head and captured House’s mouth with his own, teeth scraping over his bottom lip before his tongue was pressing past parted lips. Groaning, House tightened his grip in Wilson’s hair, his other hand coming up to knot in Jimmy’s shirt and pull him closer. And the younger man went willingly, hands slipping up to cradle his hips and dragging House closer to the edge of the piano’s lid.</p>
<p>Time was languid like that – with their pleasure pulling slow and sticky between them like cold honey, creeping and sweet enough to make his teeth hurt. And while he always enjoyed making out with Wilson, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. House released his grip on that heavy, dark hair if only to dig around in his jeans, pulling out the little packet of lube he had taken to carrying with him and pressing it against Wilson’s chest.</p>
<p>The younger man pulled back, fingers closing around the packet. Wilson gave him a curious look, an eyebrow jumping upward in question. “So, you just . . . carry lube around with you now?”</p>
<p>“Trying to see how many places we can defile, remember,” he quipped, leaning in to kiss along the oncologist’s throat, tugging the younger man closer. His hand slipped into Wilson’s back pocket, squeezing the swell of his ass briefly as House pulled Jimmy closer. He tipped his hips to rock against the younger man’s, his calves flexing. The bench, he realized, was at the perfect angle for that, and he didn’t have to worry about a lack of muscles.</p>
<p>“Wait.” Wilson pulled back, sounding only slightly breathless. “Did you have this in the <em>kitchen</em> <em>last weekend</em>,” the younger man bit out, tone sharp.</p>
<p>“No?” That probably shouldn’t have been a question, especially if the way Wilson groaned was any indication. The other shook his head in disbelief, putting more space between them – much to his dismay. House faux-pouted. “C’mon Jimmy,” he huffed out, trying to tug Wilson back to him, albeit ineffectively.</p>
<p>“You are unbelievable!” Wilson rubbed at his forehead, pushing his hand through his hair. “We used <em>cooking oil,</em> and you had lube! Seriously House?”</p>
<p>“It was hot,” House pouted, still trying to pull Wilson back to him.</p>
<p>“It was irresponsible,” Wilson countered, finally letting himself be pulled in closer. His hands planted on the edge of the piano’s lid on either side of House as he leaned in. House could feel the hot flare of Wilson’s breath on his mouth, and he licked his lips as if he could taste the younger man there. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you.”</p>
<p>That close, House knew the oncologist could see the slight flicker of emotion in his gaze. Wilson rolled his eyes in response, shaking his head. “You brat,” the younger man huffed, lips hovering just over his, and House could <em>feel </em>Jimmy’s mouth curving around those words. “You’re unbelievable, you know,” Jimmy muttered, closing the distance and pressing a remarkably chaste kiss against his lips. House tilted his chin up, increasing the pressure of that touch, his lips parting in invitation. And if some soft noise escaped from behind his teeth as the kiss deepened, well . . . they could ignore that.</p>
<p>The slow, wet tangle of their tongues rattled something free from the damp walls of his chest – a noise suspiciously like a whine – as his hand tightened in Wilson’s shirt, hauling the younger man closer while scooting to the edge of the lid. It startled him when he landed on the fallboard, held in place by the narrow ledge and Wilson’s hips.</p>
<p>It was definitely the right height for that – perfect in fact. And House was more than willing to overlook the unforgiving edge digging into his back, especially as the younger man ground their hips together filthily. Not to mention it gave Wilson just enough of a height difference to deepen the kiss impossibly as their hips rocked together.</p>
<p>Abruptly, Wilson pulled back, untangling himself from House as far as the elder was willing to let him. He definitely didn’t make a noise as the oncologist managed to get away. “Look. The logistics of this happening means you have to let me take my pants off. And yours need to – <em>at least </em>– come down,” Wilson muttered, hands falling to his belt and working it open. And while House <em>wanted </em>to focus on the younger man undoing his slacks, pushing the starched fabric down, it was necessary for him to focus fully on his own clothing situation . . . mostly because he didn’t want to get down off the piano. If he got down, he’d lose the angle, and it really <em>was</em> the perfect angle.</p>
<p>“At least down,” House grumbled, as the younger man stepped back over the bench so House could address the situation with his jeans. It took some doing – the piano’s hard lip dug harshly into the knots of his spine, somewhere about his L2 as House leaned his weight back and he clutched at the slick surface for purchase. His calves flexed to keep his weight suspended as he was, balanced between the bench and the piano. Finally – <em>finally </em>– he was able to worm his jeans and boxers down, but the fabric gathered and bunched just under his knees.</p>
<p>“They’re down,” he bit out, clutching at the piano’s edge, as Wilson gave him an amused look. “Still counts.” House let his knees flop open as much as the jeans would allow, his hips canting up so his dick bobbed eagerly between his thighs. Wilson huffed out a breath of an almost-laugh while he folded down and slipped between House’s bound legs.</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up,” House huffed. “You look just as ridiculous!” Which . . . wasn’t exactly the case – what with Jimmy’s shirt just long enough to cover his erection, even if the fabric was tenting in front of him obscenely. The sight held its own level of attraction, of promise as the younger man stood just out of reach, that dark gaze dragging hungrily along his form in a way that had House’s breath hitching.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jimmy’s hands spread there, just behind House’s knees – his lips curling upward almost wolfishly. “I just . . . like it when you’re needy like this.”</p>
<p>Any response he might have bit out scathingly evaporated as warm palms rasped along the skin of his inner thighs, as Wilson stepped closer – crowding him back against the edge of the piano. House tried to open his legs further to encourage more of that touch . . . only for his jeans to pull tight and put a stop to the motion. He groaned, head tipping back on his neck because while the boxers had more give, the denim was unmoving. He huffed out a sigh.</p>
<p>Not that it mattered overly much, as Jimmy’s hands curled around his hips and brought their groins together in a filthy, slick grind of velvet-steel skin. And his mouth smeared hotly along House’s throat, and House’s fingers found their way back into Wilson’s hair as his head tilted upward. A tongue traced his pounding carotid; teeth closed over his earlobe; lips traced the delicate curls of cartilage.</p>
<p>House turned his head to capture Wilson’s mouth with his own, teeth clicking softly in his enthusiasm to kiss the younger man. Their tongues tangled lazily.</p>
<p>“This part would have been easier on the couch,” Jimmy huffed out, pulling back and struggling with the packet of lube. He tore a corner of it off with his teeth and squeezed the contents into his palm, flexing and folding his fingers into the slick – spreading and warming the lube. Wilson’s chest and shoulders were a hard line against him, and House clutched at the front of his shirt, letting the younger man balance him on the narrow ledge of the fallboard. The ghosting of Wilson’s breath along his throat sent goosebumps scattering down his spine and was almost enough to make up for the lid’s edge digging into his back roughly.</p>
<p>“Where’s the fun in that,” House scoffed, sucking in a breath as Wilson reached between them and slick fingertips rubbed against his entrance, one digit sinking in with little preamble. He pressed his temple against Wilson’s at the sensation of that fingertip thrusting shallowly, breaching him repeatedly in teasing strokes, toying at his rim. Groaning, House tried to move into that motion – trying to get that damn finger <em>deeper – </em>and nearly slipped off the fallboard. His grip tightened in Jimmy’s shirt, along the edge of the lid in an instinctual response as his stomach swooped. And only then did House realize that while the position was novel, he wasn’t exactly able to respond as he’d like. Instead of pressing back on the intrusion, he had to settle for rocking his hips upward with the push-pull of Jimmy’s finger.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Wilson mocked, stepping closer to lend him more balance. “Who needs thorough preparation.” A second finger joined the first, sliding in deep and spreading. House hated how the oncologist managed to fingerfuck a choked-out whimper from him, eyes fluttering as the sensation went from barely there to almost too much. Those fingers were twisting in him, firmly rubbing against his prostate in the absolute <em>best </em>way – making his cock jump, drooling viscous precum, staining his shirt. It was rushed, filthy, and utterly perfect as Jimmy worked him open, pleasure a sharp-sweet edge.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he agreed, decidedly breathless. House let his mouth split open, the hitching of his breath ghosting over Wilson’s ear in the way he knew the younger man liked best. His fingers tightened in the younger man’s shirt as his hips stuttered upward. “Certainly not me,” he huffed out as his soleus muscles flexed and his Achilles pulled tight.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Jimmy hummed against his throat, fingers sliding outward, catching at his rim and tugging. The stretch of the muscle snatched at House’s breath as Wilson held him open as those digits thrust in shallowly. Wilson’s fingertips teasingly fucked him before pressing deeper into him briefly, pulling back to tease at House’s entrance, slipping free entirely to rub around his hole. House’s body clenched around nothing as his cock jumped, a dribble of precum creeping down his length.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” House panted out, not-quite-begging as he tugged at Wilson’s shirt, hips canting upward in encouragement. The younger man’s fingers pressed against his hole teasingly, toying at breaching him before the touch lightened. Nails trailed along the furled muscle of his rim punching a keen out from under House’s ribs, his body clenching at the sensation. “Jesus Jimmy,” he all but sobbed, as his muscles pulling tight and arousal flooded his system.</p>
<p>Those fingers screwed back in, spreading and twisting while Wilson sucked along his pulse. “Greg,” the younger man muttered against his skin, teeth nipping – bright and sharp. The flat of Jimmy’s tongue smoothed along that ache, pulling slickly, and making House’s head tip back with a groan.</p>
<p>“Like that,” he gasped, muscles clamping down on those deft fingers just to feel Jimmy force him open. “Christ,” And his words clotted in his throat as House swallowed hard, nails digging into the varnished edge of the piano and collecting wax. A third finger pressed in alongside the other two, the stretch of it delicious as his rim fluttered against Wilson’s knuckles.</p>
<p>“Jimmy’s fine,” Wilson teased, nipping his way up House’s neck. He sucked at the hinge of House’s jaw before pulling back to kiss House filthily, licking into his mouth. House’s fingers found their way into that dark hair, tugging sharply as his tongue tangled with the younger man’s. He swallowed the oncologist’s hum of approval, Jimmy’s fingers pressing in deep and crooking upward to rub at his prostate.</p>
<p>“More,” House panted against Wilson’s lips, sharing the younger man’s air. Those fingers spread, pulling backward as Jimmy dipped his head to press teeth against House’s Adam’s apple. Fingertips caught at his rim, stretching the muscle open. A thumbnail trailed lightly along that stretch.</p>
<p>“More,” Wilson murmured curiously against his throat, and House tipped his head back.</p>
<p>“More Jimmy.” He tugged at Wilson’s shirt, pulling the younger man impossibly closer. Jimmy’s tip smeared wetly along his inner thigh, making House’s dick jump in anticipation. His fingers tightened in Wilson’s hair. “More,” he breathed out, legs flexing so his hips could tilt upward.</p>
<p>“More,” the oncologist repeated, hips pressing forward so that flared cockhead pressed wetly against his spread entrance, the pulled tight muscle clenching against Jimmy’s knuckles. House swallowed hard, feeling his throat click at that touch. Those fingers withdrew, and Wilson’s hands curled around his hips, fingertips pressing heavily into the small of his back and more effectively bearing House’s weight.</p>
<p>Whatever words House had planned on saying evaporated as Jimmy tipped forward, glans sinking past his rim as Jimmy pulled House’s hips upward. House tensed his legs, the flexor muscles of his feet pulling tight. The edge of the piano’s lid dug harder into his spine as his hips tipped – not that he could be bothered to care as Wilson slid deeper. A cramp bit down into his arches, but the angle was worth it as Jimmy bottomed out. House groaned, knees squeezing along the oncologist’s sides. He tugged at the younger man’s hair, earning him teeth scraping along his throat in an opened-mouth kiss.</p>
<p>A slow, rolling thrust choked the breath out of him. House’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Wilson’s shirt, pulling as his hips rocked upward. He could feel the younger man’s almost-smile against the flesh of his neck – that smug bastard. And House slid his hand up along Jimmy’s chest, over his shoulder to clutch at the fabric between his shoulder blades. His fingertips dug down into those bunched muscles, pulling impatiently.</p>
<p>Wilson huffed out an almost-amused sound, chest pressing tightly against House’s as his hips surged forward, cock sliding heavily along his prostate. His fingers curved into claws, nails digging down along Jimmy’s spine, softened by his shirt because <em>Christ</em> <em>that was good</em>. House huffed out a choked sound of pleasure, hips jerking upward as his dick jumped, leaking a spurt of precum at that slick-slide against that bundle of nerves.</p>
<p>“Right there,” he panted, leg muscles flexing as House tried to tip his hips up further, to welcome that deep fucking as Wilson’s length slid into him harder, deeper. Nails bit sharply at his lower back before Jimmy’s broad hands slipped downward to clutch at his ass, holding his cheeks open so those thrusts could drive into him unhindered. The burn of that stretch sent arousal scattering along his nerve endings. And House might have whimpered – a breathy, reedy sound that rattled out from high in his throat. But who could blame him – what with Jimmy dicking down pretty damn perfectly, pounding into him and splitting him open, tearing him down to the pursuit of rapture. And was that Heaven sparking behind his eyelids? Because even the piano was moaning, the wood creaking softly under their combined weight, their motions.</p>
<p>“Like that,” he breathed out, tone soft and breathy as Wilson’s hips push-pulled against his. House’s hand curled along the edge of the piano for balance as the younger man bent over him, hips driving forward as if bound and determined to drive the breath from his lungs – which, he was doing a pretty good job, because House couldn’t seem to catch his breath. All of it seemed wrapped up in making pitiful, whimpering noises because God help him, it was <em>good</em>.</p>
<p>Arousal sparked along his spine, coiled heavily in his hips as House tottered on the sweet-sharp edge of orgasm and his body clenched down along Wilson’s length, feeling that lovely cock flex in response. There was the issue of logistics again, unwilling as he was to let his handful of Jimmy go but not quite trusting the younger man to <em>not</em> drive him up into the lip of the piano’s lid if he let go of it. His hindbrain weighed the pros and cons briefly before the scales were tipping firmly in the pleasure aspect and decidedly ignoring the pain one.</p>
<p>House’s muscles clamped down as he took himself in hand, which Jimmy seemed to take as encouragement to double down and go for broke with his fucking – not that House was complaining, as his breath punched out of him in a whimper-moan and his fingers bore down along Wilson’s spine. He could <em>quite literally</em> feel the younger man putting his back into it, those muscles flexing heavily. And that was almost good enough in itself to tip him over, but not quite.</p>
<p>House pulled at his foreskin, where it had pulled taunt along the flare of his glans, popping it over the head and driving pleasure down into him as all those delightful nerve endings along the ridged band sparked. He rubbed his thumb over the weeping slit before tugging the skin back up then down quickly, repeating the action. It wound him up, that sharp pleasure of nerves being directly stimulated.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Jimmy breathed out, voice low and rough as his hips jerked forward, mimicking the slick-slide of House’s hand around his tip.</p>
<p>And <em>that </em>punched something into him – sent arousal snarling fiercely in his guts, hot and aching at the clear indication of Wilson watching his leaking cockhead push-pulling through his fingers. And House quickened the motion, pulling Jimmy’s hips with it. His body felt twisted up tight, his orgasm screwing down into his deep muscles as Wilson’s lovely cock slid over his prostate to the same rhythm of his ridged band pulling over the flare of his cockhead. House clutched at Jimmy’s back as his pleasure pulled free and sucked a breathy noise out of his lungs as he spilled over his fingers, spurting on his shirt. He worked himself through it as Wilson drove up into him, chasing his own release in the clench of House’s body. Teeth closed over his clavicle as the younger man came, grinding his hips against House’s ass as his cock flexed, spilling into him.</p>
<p>Fucked-out and pliant – grossly, delightfully sticky – House let Wilson support most of his weight as he sagged breathlessly against the edge of the piano. The younger man nosed at the line of his throat, breath soft and hot along his skin, creeping upward to huff at the sensitive spot behind his ear. House’s fingers found his way into Jimmy’s hair, twining around those dark strands.</p>
<p>He wondered how long it could last, as he tried to catch his breath, to slow his raging heartbeat. How long his life could be that perfect blend of fucking offered so willing by the younger man before it was cruelly snatched away. He wasn’t <em>allowed</em> to have nice things.</p>
<p>“We should probably move this to the bathroom,” Wilson muttered against the hinge of his jaw. “Clean up,” he intoned, ever the voice of reason. House pushed his fingers through Jimmy’s hair, humming thoughtfully – because the younger man was right, but he didn’t quite feel like disturbing the afterglow just yet. Even if the piano’s edge was becoming unbearable and his legs were beginning to cramp.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” he returned, not even pretending that he was about to move from that spot. House was mildly comfortable – what with Jimmy’s warm weight pressing against him, broad hands under aching hips, and the aftershocks of arousal still snapping at his nerve endings. He scraped his fingernails against Wilson’s scalp, pulling at that soft, heavy hair.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m going to clean up,” Wilson finally snorted – tone overly fond as he began to pull away, taking away House’s support and forcing him to balance himself between the bench and the piano.</p>
<p>“Carry me,” House whined petulantly, lifting a hand as the younger man stepped away.</p>
<p>“That’s not happening.”</p>
<p>Huffing out a sigh, House returned his feet to the ground, wincing at the hurt in his lower back. He wondered if there was a bruise blooming there, his hands spreading along that ache. It had been totally worth it, even as House grimaced down at the mess he’d made of his shirt, picking at the fabric and pulling it away from his stomach.</p>
<p>“I’ll rub your back in bed,” Wilson incentivized as he gathered their strewn about clothing from the floor. “After you clean up.”</p>
<p>“Sold,” he quipped, dragging his shirt off and dropping it on the floor before heading for the bathroom. House ignored the oncologist muttering <em>brat </em>behind him.</p>
<p>And in the bedroom, clean and worn out, House watched as Wilson climbed into the bed as if he belonged there, wallowing down in the covers and casting an expectant look in his direction. He swallowed down that warm feeling as he followed the younger man’s example. And as Jimmy’s head pressed to the point of his shoulder and a broad hand lazily, sleepily rubbed along his lower back as the younger man drifted toward sleep – House asked himself again <em>how long</em>.</p>
<p>As it turned out. the answer to the hypothetical question he had asked himself – or maybe that possibly there, fucked up God – was three days. Three more days. His mind wandered as he sat in his conference room, blindly watching as Cameron and Foreman butted heads.</p>
<p>The ducklings were fighting about . . . something. Arguing external causality versus an internal one. Foreman hadn’t found anything of interest in the patient’s house, and Cameron was claiming all the tests had come back normal. Not to mention Chase had already suggested lupus, which it was <em>never </em>fucking lupus – well, okay . . . it was <em>rarely </em>lupus. Rarely enough that House had scoffed at the suggestion. And normally, House would have jumped at the chance to rub his fellow’s nose in that mistake, but there was a twinge in his leg.</p>
<p>The muscles – or lack thereof – were beginning to ache. Not all the time, not yet, but it was building.</p>
<p>He thumped his oversized tennis ball against the wall; his palm resting hotly over the crater in his thigh.</p>
<p>House’s gaze focused on the whiteboard and then promptly unfocused as he lost himself in thought. The case wasn’t really that interesting anyway – it was probably a transient ischemic attack or an angina or something trivial like that. Cuddy had made him take it to justify his department’s existence. And House wasn’t that invested, not to mention Wilson was infinitely more interesting.</p>
<p>But then again, Jimmy always had been more interesting, hadn’t he.</p>
<p>They’d only made it across half the apartment – fucked on the living room floor and on the couch, on the counter by the sink, on the back of his beloved baby grand, not to mention a particularly memorable encounter in the bedroom – and it wasn’t enough. And he wasn’t ready for his leg to go back to the same useless piece of meat it had been for the past handful of years. He wasn’t ready to go back to being a <em>fucking cripple.</em></p>
<p>He finally had Wilson, finally had the oncologist exactly as he wanted him . . . and all he’d had was a lousy handful of weeks.</p>
<p>Shoving himself upward, House cut all train of conversation off as he thumped the tennis ball down on the table as a sort of exclamation point. He pointed at Cameron. “Run the blood tests again, specifically looking for autoimmune issues – CRP, ESR, ANA.” He looked at Foreman and Chase. “And you two do a full history, separately. Everybody lies.” And whatever they said in response was lost to him as House stormed out of the office.</p>
<p>House shoved Wilson’s door open, slamming it behind him – even though it didn’t seem to faze the other, as the oncologist continued doing what appeared to be paperwork. He stomped over to the desk, completely ignoring the dull throb that had begun to settle along his femur. House snatched the pen out of Wilson’s grip, glaring all the while.</p>
<p>With a huffed-out sigh, Wilson leaned back in his expensive, ergonomic chair and fixed House with a curious look. “Well, someone’s in a mood,” the younger doctor teased, his lips curving upward just slightly in the barest approximation of a smile.</p>
<p>Planting his palms on the desk, House swept his arms – pushing everything to the floor. The gesture pulled Wilson’s eyebrow upward in question. “Oh. So, you’re feeling bratty,” the oncologist remarked with a slight nod, arms crossing loosely low on his chest.</p>
<p>“You. Me. This desk. Right now.”</p>
<p>Wilson’s eyebrows lifted further in question, landing somewhere near his hairline. “Excuse me.”</p>
<p>“You heard me,” House scoffed, planting his hands on the desk. “But let me be clear so your obviously slow-witted brain can comprehend. I want you to fuck me on your desk.”</p>
<p>Wilson’s eyebrows lifted a bit higher. “Yes. Please. Continue to insult me while you encourage me with sex – I clearly have masochistic tendencies.”</p>
<p>“Well. You <em>have </em>been married three times,” House snarked, leaning forward a bit to relieve the mounting ache in his thigh. There was a low-seated desire to feel Jimmy’s broad, capable hands on his ruined thigh, kneading muscles and easing aches. But he would never admit to that.</p>
<p>“I think my friendship with you would be a clearer indicator. Certainly, a longer standing one.”</p>
<p>“C’mon Jimmy! You know you want to bend me over this desk.” He patted the fake wood and leered at Wilson. Okay so maybe the fantasy was more of his thing – but Wilson had to be down for some afternoon delight. After all, Jimmy was only a red-blooded man.</p>
<p>“You didn’t even lock the door,” Wilson pointed out. “And your fellows have a rude habit of busting through my door in search of you.” He checked his watch. “Not to mention I have an appointment with a patient in an hour.”</p>
<p>House made his way back to the door and locked it, he leaned against it for a moment while he undid the fly of his jeans and palmed himself through his boxers. Of course, it didn’t take long for his dick to swell under the thin fabric – the fantasy might have circulated through his mind once or twice over the past few years. Squeezing his length through his boxers, House made his way back over to the desk, ignoring the incredulous look Wilson was giving him.</p>
<p>“. . . you’re serious.”</p>
<p>“Astute as ever, Wilson.”</p>
<p>The oncologist hadn’t even gotten to his feet, still impeccably and tidily rumpled – which should have looked stupid, but on Wilson looked so damn good. The firmly starched presses of his shirt had finally softened, the thick knot of his tie had loosened just barely, and his hair had clearly had fingers run through it. It sparked an ache in him. It made House want to climb into the younger’s lap and kiss him, lick filthily into his mouth, and muss that hair up properly.</p>
<p>Of course, he wanted Jimmy to fuck him over the desk more. He wanted a broad palm – bitter with industrial strength antiseptic – over his mouth to muffle his moans while Wilson ploughed into him because the oncologist was <em>good</em> at that. He wanted Wilson’s mouth pressed just at the base of his neck, parted just a bit so he could feel the edge of those teeth while a lust-heavy hand crushed at his hip and hot, damp breath flared on his skin. He wanted the grittiness of their clothes pulled apart just enough for it, his cock pressed down into the varnished finish of Wilson’s desk and the hurt of a rushed preparation.</p>
<p>Not to mention, it was an unfairly hot idea. The thought that someone might hear them, walk in on them. There were keys to Wilson’s office floating around the hospital. Not to mention, the memory of it every time he stepped into Jimmy’s office – maybe he’d eventually convince Wilson they should fuck on the couch as well. And arousal was blooming in his stomach, making its way up his chest. His dick twitched, a bead of precum darkening the fabric of his boxers.</p>
<p>“Or we can fuck in your chair.”</p>
<p>“No,” Wilson squeaked, practically jumping to his feet. “We’d probably break it.”</p>
<p>He was going to respond, but then Wilson was boxing him against the edge of the desk – hands on either side of his hips as the oncologist leaned in, not quite touching. That close, his eyes were beautiful, all dark and glittering – House could see the flecks of almost-gold strewn through irises the color of cold espresso. And Wilson looked unfairly kissable – soft pink lips parted invitingly, tilted up at the corners with the hint of a smile.</p>
<p>“We have to hurry,” Wilson told him – which House knew, <em>of course</em>. Because Boy Wonder had a cancer thing in an hour, and it wouldn’t do to keep someone waiting. House rolled his eyes and dropped his hands to Wilson’s belt, working it open. The sound of it made his cock throb – they were <em>actually</em> going to do it. He squeezed Wilson through his slacks, cataloging the thickness of his dick and wondering if he should let the oncologist just fuck his mouth instead – Jimmy was thick enough that a rough tumble in the figurative sheets plus House’s increasing leg pain might equal cane-use earlier. <em>Nah</em>.</p>
<p>He would <em>gladly</em> suffer the consequences of playing out his filthy little fantasy.</p>
<p>“Well duh,” House breathed out. His fingers shook just a little as he undid Wilson’s fly, eager for it.</p>
<p>“In the mood for rough and fast, are you,” Wilson mouthed against his neck – and the combination of those words and that mouth was unfair. Made even more so as a broad palm cupped his erection through his boxers and gave a tantalizingly hard rub, fingers curling to squeeze his sac lightly as Wilson bullied him back against the desk’s edge.</p>
<p>“Didn’t take much convincing,” House panted, spreading his legs as much as he could as though that would magically make more space appear in his jeans – say, enough room for Wilson’s had to do more than just tease him.</p>
<p>“An hour,” Wilson reminded him, pressing a sucking kiss to the soft spot below his jaw, pressing forward to grind their hips together. House gasped, burying a hand into that heavy, dark hair and pulling. <em>Christ</em>. His dick was definitely liking the rough, barely-clothed treatment of that grind – his length already aching hotly in his boxers. He had to spread a hand on the desk behind him to steady himself as Wilson kissed him frantically, teeth closing over his bottom lip before that tongue was bullying its way in. Just a taste though, as that searing mouth was smoothing down his throat. Teeth scored at his skin, followed by the filthy slide of Jimmy’s tongue, the soft smear of his lips.</p>
<p>“If I’d known it was this easy to convince you, woulda asked sooner,” House gasped out, his fingers tightening in the younger man’s hair, tugging as his head tipped back in encouragement.</p>
<p>“Did you want me to fuck you or not.” A hot, opened-mouth kiss pressed along against the join of his neck with just a hint of scraping teeth.</p>
<p>Instead of answering, House pushed Jimmy back enough that he could shove impatiently at his jeans and boxers until the fabric bunched around his knees and turn around. Wiggling his bare ass at Wilson playfully as he planted palms on the spotless desk and looked over his shoulder cheekily. Which, that playfulness dissolved the moment Wilson pulled his dick through the slit of his boxers – and that realization sent a bolt of arousal down his spine, set a fire of want in his guts. Because Wilson – <em>dear, sweet Jimmy</em> – was going to fuck bare-assed him <em>completely dressed</em> and that thought was hotter than it had any right to be.</p>
<p>He watched, dry-mouthed, as Wilson lazily stroked himself, squeezing at the base to encourage himself to harden further, rubbing his thumb over the slit. And <em>Christ</em> the man had such a pretty cock – which should have been impossible, but James Wilson was nothing if not pretty. Thick enough that House knew his fingers would just barely curl around the girth of it, flushed and cut and longer than House’s own – <em>more</em> than adequate. A milky bead of precum appeared at the slit, and he watched a thumbpad smear it along the broad cockhead.</p>
<p>House definitely didn’t whimper, but his hand did drop down to his own dick, squeezing the base of it roughly to keep it from getting any stupid ideas – like that it would be okay for him to go ahead and cum. His hips fucked forward at the touch. And he sucked in a deep breath as Wilson stepped up behind him, the starched fabric of his chinos rough against the back of House’s thighs and okay, he might have whimpered at that. It was either at that, or at the feel of that flushed, slick cockhead being dragged along his cleft in a blatant tease. And <em>Jesus </em>he needed to spread his legs further but couldn’t.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” he groaned, hips canting backward to feel more of that thick length. But Wilson shifted, letting his cock slap lightly against House’s hip, rocking slightly. And the slide of hot velvet-steel against his skin made an embarrassing noise crawl up his throat. And Wilson – that absolute bastard – chuckled against the back of his neck, pressing wet kisses along the neckline of his tee. There was the whisper of mechanics as a drawer opened, the click of a bottle top popping. It occurred to him then that Wilson shockingly, but perhaps not surprisingly, kept lube in his desk.</p>
<p>“You deviant,” he gasped out, as cold-slick fingers glanced along his hole, catching at the rim. House grunted as two fingers pushed in with little preamble, breath catching hard under his ribs. That breath choked out on a whine as Wilson’s fingers spread as they slid deeper.</p>
<p>“Boy Scout.”</p>
<p>Teeth scraped along the base of his neck, and for Jimmy having been in such a damn hurry earlier he certainly was taking his sweet time – fingers fucking lazily in and out of House, curling and spreading, somehow choking needy little noises out of him as he pressed back on those fingers. Wilson bit just under his shirt as a third finger joined the first two, twisting in a screwing motion that drew a breathy moan sullenly from under his ribs.</p>
<p>“Dick down Jimmy,” House panted, not-quite begging but close as he squeezed the base of his cock to dissuade that blooming heat of arousal gathering in his lower belly. Cumming from Wilson fingerfucking him open was literally the most humiliating thing House could imagine just then.</p>
<p>“Don’t wanna hurt you Greg,” was breathed against the side of his neck right before a hot tongue slid along the thunder of his pulse. And then Wilson was fucking him with those fingers – <em>Jesus – </em>slow and deep, pressing against his prostate and rubbing. A choked-out moan burst through his lips, and then there was a broad palm against his mouth, and damned if that didn’t make him moan a bit more.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Wilson pressed impossibly closer to him, still so neat and tidy and <em>fuck </em>that was hot. Lips grazed the shell of his ear. “You like that.” The palm flattened further against his mouth, digging the edge of teeth into supple flesh of House’s lips. “You want me to <em>make</em> you keep quiet, while I do everything I can to make you scream, don’t you.” Fingers were digging into the slope of his cheek, a thumb pressing harshly against his cheekbone, and House whimpered. God help him, he whimpered.</p>
<p>There was that bolt of arousal again. Because Jimmy could be rough, give him a good, deep, hip-aching fucking-for but rarely was he mindlessly dominant instead of considerate. But the oncologist was definitely Type A, an alpha personality, and Wilson could certainly deliver in the dominance department. And <em>fuck</em> – that fucked up, possibly there God <em>really </em>had made Jimmy for fucking, hadn’t they. Fingertips pressed against his prostate, milking it roughly until his hips jerked whiplash-quick backward then forward and his teeth clamped over the meat of Wilson’s palm and his breath caught in his throat. There was that slick-slide feel of precum dripping down his length, his dick twitching eagerly.</p>
<p>Then those fingers were gone and there was that exquisite pain-pleasure of that thick cockhead breaching him, pushing past clenching muscles with little regard for hurt. Short, rocking thrusts drove Wilson’s length into him, deeper and deeper. And why had he thought it was smart for him to have Jimmy fuck him with his arms straight, his elbows locked. His elbows should be folded, his forehead pressed to the wood as he offered up his ass for sacrifice. But it was too late to change his mind though because Wilson was effectively holding him in place with the firm grip across his mouth as the younger man slowly rocked his cock into House’s body.</p>
<p>He was gasping against Wilson’s palm, hips pressing back into the jerks. His eyes fluttered – because his legs weren’t spread enough, and <em>Christ </em>Wilson felt huge. Bigger than usual. His thighs might as well have been pressed closed for all the give his jeans allowed, but he knew better. The restriction of the position was absolutely fan-fucking-tastic, and he definitely whimpered against the bitter salt-soap flesh of Wilson’s palm.</p>
<p>When Wilson bottomed out, House <em>might</em> have sobbed – who could say for sure with the sound muffled against flesh. The heavy drag of their breathing echoed in the room, but House was surprised he could hear it over the pound of his heart, the thunder of his pulse. His hips juddered backward as Wilson’s free palm drifted along his chest, his stomach, deft fingers drifting hotly toward House’s groin. That touch avoided his cock in any fashion. Which did nothing but make him squirm, his hips twisting backward as his dick jumped and a pearl of precum oozed out of the slit, sliding down his length lazily. House squinted his eyes shut.</p>
<p>“I think . . .” that voice breathed into his ear while hips rocked, pressing Jimmy closer against his ass and increasing the pressure on the tops of his thighs delightfully. The hot exhale of air along the cartilage sent yet another bolt of arousal down House's spine as a dry, warm palm pressed firmly to his mons. The pressure pulled him back on Wilson’s dick, and it felt as though that hard length was lodged in his guts. “That you can cum untouched.”</p>
<p>House shuddered, and he <em>definitely </em>moaned against the meat of Wilson’s hand, fingers curling sharply along the slick-smooth desktop. Wilson’s hand drew along his skin, fingers clamping hotly along the cut of his groin, wrapping around his hip.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Wilson breathed out, hips pressing harder to House’s ass. “You <em>like </em>that. You want me to fuck you and <em>not </em>touch you.” He gasped against Wilson’s hand. Damn Jimmy for awakening all kinds of fucked-up kinks in him.</p>
<p>There was an experimental thrust, and his breath left him in a whine. House leaned forward on his arms, feeling the muscles extend and the joints of his elbows groaned lightly in his skin. <em>Christ. </em>His head tilted back, letting it press lightly against Wilson’s, where the oncologist was pressed tightly against him, hips rolling downward.</p>
<p>He moaned against Wilson’s hand, his own hips rolling backward against Wilson’s weight. Jesus, Wilson felt good. The pressure of hips bore down on him, and House gasped at the slick-slide glide of Wilson’s dick against his prostate. Because unlike himself, Wilson didn’t avoid that delightful little gland, but rather railed into it. But then again, Jimmy had been fucking with vim and vigor since med school and had the stamina to show it.</p>
<p>His palms slid forward on the desk, tilting his body just a bit – his cockhead smearing wetly against the varnished surface for a brief, blissful moment. The palm against his mouth tightened, and Jimmy shifted. For a startling second, House thought the oncologist had changed his mind, but a broad hand pressed against his leg until he got the hint and dutifully closed them a bit more. House groaned into Wilson’s palm and made the note to not sit for the next few hours, as he clenched along that girth. It felt a bit like Jimmy had crammed a piece of PVC up his ass. The rough fabric of those pressed slacks slid along the outsides of his thighs as his free hand spread on the desktop for balance, and Wilson gave an experimental thrust – as if to check his range of motion.</p>
<p>It felt impossibly deep, and House whimpered against the oncologist’s palm. Christ, he was pathetic. He rolled his eyes at himself. But that thought fled as Wilson took to lazily fucking him, hard and deep enough that House swore he could feel the younger man’s dick in his throat – then again, nine inches and roughly 40DR so it was possible he could. Not to mention, each thrust was gliding over his prostate in such an infuriatingly perfect way that all House <em>could</em> do to whimper – pathetic or not.</p>
<p>Hot breath fluttered along the curls of his ear, teeth scraping the shell and smearing hotly behind his ear. “Who would have known that Greg House would want to submit.” A sucking kiss pressed against the nape of his neck. He groaned into Wilson’s hand, hips stuttering backwards indignantly, which earned him a much harder thrust. <em>Christ</em>. Teeth pulled along the crook of his neck. “I do miss hearing you beg though.” And that sentence was hotter than it should have been, Wilson’s rough voice – low and ragged – sinking into his thoughts, pleasure sparking along his nervous system and wringing precum from his dick.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” Wilson mocked, his voice a falsely high approximation of House’s that should have irritated him but instead made his cock twitch and pleasure coil tightly in his lower stomach. He was going to blame that on the feeling of Wilson’s perfect cock ploughing into him. He whined, the pressure on his mouth pressing his teeth open just barely – his tongue slunk across the meat of Wilson’s palm, the whine shifting into a moan at the salty, bitter taste of his skin.</p>
<p>“Jesus Jimmy,” Wilson faux-panted, and House hated him – but not because that had been the thought rebounding within the walls of his skull. Nope.</p>
<p>“Like that,” the oncologist breathed against his neck, tongue sliding along the pound of his pulse. House’s moans were pretty continuous, his tongue firmly behind the cage of his teeth because House feared he might actually bite the damn muscle off as Wilson’s hips upped the pace. He missed the obscene slap of skin on skin when Jimmy fucked him rough and dirty like that; all he heard was the rustle of fabric, the weighted rock of the desk, the gasping huff of his own breathing. He tipped his head back to press against Wilson’s hair, the angle uncomfortable but distracting his body from the almost overwhelming urge to cum. The hand banded across the lower half of his face tightened, holding him in place.</p>
<p>Every forward slide had almost pushed his dick against the cool desk – <em>almost – </em>but his body bent as it was, that almost-touch disappeared<em>. </em>It was infuriating. Damn Wilson – he really was going to make House cum untouched, because House’s hands were currently being used to keep House upright while the younger man did his damnedest to fuck House <em>through</em> his desk. His orgasm was coiling tightly at his spine, cock twitching – he could almost hear the precum dripping to the desktop, Jimmy milking it out of him by abusing his prostate in the best possible way. The sticky-slow slide of that viscous fluid trailing down the curve of his dick.</p>
<p>“Christ.” Teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder before that mouth was breathing over the curls of his ear, making his skin ripple into goosebumps. “More.” He was pretty sure he was dying – Wilson was going to fuck him to death. His heart was going to give out – should’ve drank less, ate better, something. He’d do anything if only Wilson kept fucking him like that. <em>Fuck</em> were his eyes crossing? “More Jimmy, more.” Wilson’s voice took on a quivering quality that House admitted his own voice sometimes developed . . . but only sometimes, like when Wilson was dicking down particularly well. Alright – so it happened more than he was willing to admit, <em>especially </em>to Wilson of all people.</p>
<p>Damn pretty oncologists with magic dicks.</p>
<p>“Right there,” followed by a throaty whimper that House would swear Wilson exaggerated but knew the younger man hadn’t. The fucking had been steady – hard and deep – and it should have been impossible for Wilson to fuck him better, but there they were. “Like that,” Jimmy mocked softly against his pulse. And the oncologist was fucking him hard enough that his belt was slapping against House’s thigh, the prong of Wilson’s buckle digging into his flesh. He definitely wasn’t going to be sitting anytime soon. But House canted his hips back, encouraging that brutal pace. His eyes hadn’t crossed – nope; they had rolled back in his skull.</p>
<p>A shrill beep flooded into the silence of the room, and Wilson chuffed a laugh against his shoulder. “You’ve got ten minutes.”</p>
<p>House gritted his teeth because Wilson was a bastard enough to stop fucking House if <em>only</em> to do a damned consult with a hopeless patient. He groaned against the broad palm covering his mouth. Wilson’s free hand curled around his hip hotly, jerking him back into each thrust. House was fairly certain he saw stars. And while Wilson’s hand had muffled most of the sound, the residual of it still managed to seep out into the office. Ten minutes – but knowing Jimmy, he’d stop within five.</p>
<p>“Can you cum in ten minutes,” Wilson whispered in his ear, breath gusting hotly over those delicate curls and sending goosebumps scattering down House’s spine.</p>
<p>And of course House could – as if his orgasm hadn’t been a writhing, coiling thing in his guts since Jimmy had had his fingers in him. If only he could grasp it, pull it free from the base of his spine. Then Wilson was fucking into him hard and grinding, Jimmy’s hips doing something obscene to his ass while that lovely cock bore heavily against his prostate. The abrupt change of sensations sent him over the edge, dick jerking as he came with something startingly close to a muffled shout, striping Wilson’s desk with cum. It felt punched out, and he could hear it hitting in thick jets as he hurtled toward overstimulation as the oncologist kept up the grind. And Wilson – <em>damn him</em> – just pulled out, let him go like House was some dirty child, like he <em>hadn’t </em>just fucking broken him.</p>
<p>Heaving air through his mouth, House leaned against the desk and tried to slow the pound of his heart. But it felt marginally impossible, seeing as Wilson had just fucked him to within an inch of his damn life. There for a moment, House might have seen that possibly there, fucked up God. His legs were quivering. <em>Definitely not sitting</em>. He glanced over his shoulder and was unsurprised to see Wilson all neat and tidy, clothes done up, smoothing his hair back into place. There was a rather obvious bulge under his fly, but the doctor’s coat covered it up well enough.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” he panted out, hating how rough his voice was – a clear indication of his loud moaning. House tugged his boxers and jeans back into place, reminding himself to take slow, deep breaths – he was feeling a bit lightheaded.</p>
<p>“Don’t you have a case or something?” Wilson had the audacity to swat him on the ass, eyes twinkling with a smile. The smug bastard. And House stormed out of the office as best as he could with what felt like a prominent limp.</p>
<p>Sometime around midafternoon, he was finally able to sit again – even if the sensation of it made his eyes flutter in a sweet pleasure-pain hurt. His pulse did an infuriating uptick in pace whenever he caught sight of Wilson, and his genius brain seemed to have sent a permanent memo to his heart that it should pound every time he heard the oncologist speak. And he definitely wasn’t hanging out in the clinic to watch Wilson’s bedside manner, as he treated patients without mocking them and chatted with the nurses who all seemed stupidly besotted with the oncologist.</p>
<p>Cuddy stalked up to him, heels clicking obnoxiously on the tile and with a plunging neckline that practically begged his gaze to trace along it. Ridiculously good sex with Wilson couldn’t deter from an excellent pair of tits – and Cuddy’s truly were spectacular.</p>
<p>“House.” He’d been caught just standing around, <em>dammit</em>. It was too late for him to slip into an exam room and pretend to work – which Cuddy proved by pressing a file into his chest firmly. “I won’t have you down here bothering Wilson. He’s <em>actually</em> doing his job, and <em>you should too</em>.” The pressure on the file increased with those words, her manicured eyebrows jumping upward.</p>
<p>Behind her, he watched a little girl squeeze Wilson’s hand as her mother beamed at him. And Wilson fucking smiled that damn almost-coy smile, head canting downward just slightly – <em>that flirt</em>.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he gritted out, snatching the folder and stalking away.</p>
<p>In his office, House threw himself petulantly down in his chair, tossing the file on his desk – where he promptly forgot about it. He stared at the papers blindly, thoughts ricocheting off the walls of his skull as he tried to undo memories and emotions. How had it gone so wrong; when had he starting falling hard and fast. Because it was just supposed to be sex – falling into bed with an attractive younger man . . . of his dreams or not. Not falling of that other kind. Thoughtfully, he aimlessly thumped his tennis ball, squeezing it occasionally.</p>
<p>Time drifted away with that sound.</p>
<p>“You ready to go?” His eyebrows jumped upward, attention coming back into focus with Wilson’s words because they had <em>definitely</em> arrived separately.</p>
<p>House leaned back in his chair and looked at Wilson – really looked at him. Because for all the younger doctor’s attempts at looking nonchalant, he could see the tension in those shoulders, in the lines of Wilson’s face – and not the normal I-told-someone-they’re-dying tension patented by the oncologist’s profession. Likewise, he hadn’t bothered stuffing his hands in his pockets like he usually did – which House assumed would pull his pants too tight, and the suit jacket wasn’t quite as long as the doctor’s coat. He smirked a bit – guessing that Jimmy had spent the afternoon with a rather impressive set of blue balls, but that served him right didn’t it.</p>
<p>“Yep,” he said, popping the <em>p</em> as he got to his feet and snatched up his backpack.</p>
<p>Normally Wilson let House leave the office first, but as it was Wilson was already out the door – a clear indication of a good time. And in the cramped elevator, if House stood a little close, if his ass brushed against the front of the other’s slacks purposefully, who could say. To his credit, Wilson just swallowed a little harder just beyond his shoulder.</p>
<p>However, in Wilson’s stupidly sensible Volvo, House allowed his hand to wander, slipping over a lovely thigh to press fingers down along the inseam of those starched slacks and the tender skin beneath, dragging his touch upward to ghost fingers over the other’s fly. But Wilson – <em>the bastard </em>– obeyed the traffic laws and took his sweet-ass time driving them home. No amount of leg squeezing or bulge brushing changed that, although it did tighten the edges of Jimmy’s mouth in what could prove to be a very good thing – especially if Wilson was in a certain kind of <em>mood </em>like that little episode in the office had hinted at.</p>
<p>And Jimmy was out of the car just as soon as it came to a stop and was in the apartment before House could really register it. His eyes drifted upward in an almost-prayer before he pulled himself from the car. If Wilson didn’t care about locking it, he didn’t either – even if he checked the back seats to make sure nothing there asked for the car to be broken into. And if he pressed down on the lock button before he shut his door . . . well, his hand had merely slipped. Ass still aching a bit and pain starting to coil along his thigh, House took his time with the stairs only to find the doorway to the apartment gaping in invitation.</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes at the door left wide open, House huffed and approached the doorway. Something stirred in his hindbrain, arousal sparking along his sensory system. He swallowed hard, feeling anticipation pool heavily in his lower stomach. House hated to admit it, but he was already well on his way to halfway hard.</p>
<p>Stepping through the jamb, he dropped his backpack to the floor and turned to close the door. Arousal was burning along his skin, thrumming through his veins. Even anticipating Wilson making a move, his heart still jerked against the bones of his chest as he turned his back to the living room and Jimmy crowded him against the door, reaching around him to lock it and the younger man’s forehead pressed against the nape of his neck. A hand curled around his hip as that mouth moved along his neck.</p>
<p>“You are <em>such </em>a brat,” Wilson groaned against his skin, bracketing him against the door and mouth pressing harshly against the crook of his neck with just a hint of teeth. House’s eyes fluttered briefly, his fingers curling around the doorknob sharply. He swallowed hard and let his head rest against the door as Wilson leaned up against him.</p>
<p>Pressed between the human version of a rock and a hard place, House tutted mockingly. “Something’s gotten into you.” His tone a vague approximation of innocence that he’d never had. Especially given that he had tipped his hips back, letting his ass rub rather firmly against the bulge in Wilson’s slacks.</p>
<p>“Something’s getting into you,” Wilson huffed out, and House might have laughed – if the oncologist wasn’t deftly undoing House’s jeans, pressing up against his back, and using ample teeth on the nape of his neck while putting his capable hands to good use to manhandle him into place.</p>
<p>House had <em>expected</em> for Wilson to get right to it, to shove his jeans to his knees and finish what the younger man had started in the office – which was exactly what <em>didn’t </em>happen. As broad hands wrapped around his hips and pulled House back more firmly against Jimmy’s front, the oncologist grinding and rocking against him. A palm slid along where House’s erection was trapped against his thigh, rubbing and squeezing expertly along the length of it until curling around the tip and coaxing a dribble of precum out. House’s hips jerked back, rubbing his ass firmly against Jimmy’s still clothed erection.</p>
<p>“Feeling decidedly empty here, Jimmy,” he grumped, tugging at his jeans and managing to get them to slide down just a bit before Wilson stopped that process. House huffed and let his forehead thump against the door. The younger man chuffed an amused breath against the crook of his neck, his hands finally pushing House’s jeans down, but infuriatingly leaving his boxers in place</p>
<p>“You’re so impatient.” Wilson palmed him through his boxers before cupping his erection firmly and rubbing a thumb along his glans. House groaned and rocked back against Wilson’s weight, hips tipping up more firmly into that touch.</p>
<p>“You made a pretty big promise,” House huffed out. “Pun intended.”</p>
<p>Wilson breathed a laugh against the side of his neck, the younger man’s lips smearing upward hotly. The oncologist drew his teeth along skin and nibbled at the soft spot behind House’s ear, breathing warmly against the delicate curls of cartilage. Goosebumps raised along his thighs, sparked along his forearms. His hips pressed backward, internally delighting as Jimmy wrapped a proprietorial hand around his hip and pulled House back firmly.</p>
<p>The hand cupping his erection slipped into his boxers, trapping his length in that sweat-slick nest between his legs, and House tried to spread his thighs further. A clever squeeze-twist had House reaching back for Wilson, though he doubted he’d be able to get the younger man closer. But dutifully, Wilson shuffled closer, a leg slotting between House’s thighs as best it was able as the oncologist somewhat effectively closed the gap between them by almost-straddling House’s leg.</p>
<p>Warmth bloomed in his lower belly, feeling Wilson’s cock pressed against his hip like a promise. A teasing promise it seemed, as the younger man was apparently content to mouth lazily against House’s neck, stroking him idly while they rocked together. House groaned, thumping his forehead against the door. “Jimmy,” he grumbled, pushing at his boxers – which was ineffectual given Wilson’s hand had slipped through the slit to fondle him, and the fabric gaped around his wrist in a way that was unfairly attractive and shouldn’t have been.</p>
<p>A breathy chuckle skirted across his throat, once more raising goosebumps in rather inconvenient places, as Wilson withdrew his hand. His hips jerked, instinctively chasing after that retreating touch. But then Jimmy was pushing at his jeans, his boxers until they slipped past his knees. There was the muffled rustle of fabric sliding to the floor, puddling around his ankles and on his sneakers. The feeling of Wilson’s slacks against the sensitive back of his thigh was more arousing than it had any right being. House’s breath hitched at the thought of Wilson once more dicking down all neat and tidy while House’s bits dangled in the breeze.</p>
<p>Fingers glanced along his cleft, and House hurried to spread his legs as much as the denim hobbling him would allow. His hips canted out, pressing into that lingering touch. Wilson’s fingertips caught at his hole, tugging just slightly. The sensation of those circling, curious digits had House’s eyes fluttering as the younger man toyed at breaching him.</p>
<p>“Still fucked open Jimmy,” House groaned, earning him two fingers pressing in deep, spreading as they went. “Know a guy with high-quality lube.” He was decidedly ignoring the breathless quality of his voice as the oncologist worked him open – just to be a bastard – and hummed against his throat. Teeth scraped along the pound of House’s pulse, followed by the flat of a tongue as Wilson shifted behind him. A hot, sucking kiss was pressed at the hinge of his jaw, Jimmy’s breath flaring along the damp of it.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Those fingers pressed mercifully – mercilessly? He wasn’t really sure which. – against his prostate, rubbing. His dick jumped, drooling precum, and House swallowed down his whine. His fingers curled sharply against the doorknob, against Jimmy’s hip. The pressure against that bundle of nerves had pleasure licking down his spine, banking in the cradle of his hips, burning way down low in his guts.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he panted out. “Deviant keeps it in his desk,” House gritted out, hips jerking back to follow the press of Wilson’s fingers as they slid outward.</p>
<p>Wilson merely hummed against his throat, three digits working their way back into House with little preamble – spreading and screwing as the oncologist fingered him open unnecessarily. Arousal burned through him as those digits toyed with his rim and kept House just the right side of oversensitive. He gasped, hips jerking backward into that touch.</p>
<p>“Jimmy,” House breathed out, tone as close to begging as he’d admit as he pulled at Wilson’s hip. Those fingers disappeared, bearing down into his skin as Jimmy bent to rifle through his pockets.</p>
<p>“Where’s the lube House?”</p>
<p>“Where’s the fun in that,” he huffed, flexing his thigh muscles as the younger man nipped at his skin.</p>
<p>“You’re such a brat,” Wilson grumped, finally having retrieved the lube with a victorious hum. The sound of the younger man working his belt open, undoing his zip shouldn’t have coiled arousal low in House’s belly – but did. “Of course you’d want me fucking you dry.” The <em>obscene</em> sound of Jimmy’s slick palm stroking his length punched into him.</p>
<p>“Stop kink shaming me,” House pouted, pulling impatiently at Wilson’s shirt, his hips pressing backward into the slick slide of the oncologist’s cockhead smearing against his ass cheek. He dutifully tried to spread his legs further.</p>
<p>The younger man smiled against the crook of his neck, drawing teeth along the join. “I thought we had a conversation about the importance of thorough preparation.”</p>
<p>“Excessive more like,” he grumbled, even as his hips shifted backward, as Wilson pressed his tip against House’s rim teasingly. Just the hint of pressure as Jimmy almost breached him before tilting away. He <em>definitely</em> didn’t whine as that sharp-sweet pressure pulled back. An amused huff of breath skated along his throat as those hips pressed forward, splitting him effortless and Jimmy’s pretty cock sunk in deep.</p>
<p>His fingers knotted sharply in Wilson’s shirt, House’s hips jerking back to hurry the younger man along. He was still sore from earlier, and his muscles tightened at the nearly too-fast intrusion despite his brain telling all his pleasure centers it was <em>just the right side of hurtful. </em>Jimmy moaned against his skin, lips parting with the sound as he rocked his hips firmly against House. He tilted his hips, encouraging the younger man impossibly deeper. House sucked in a sharp breath as Wilson pulled him back, pushing forward in the same shift of muscles.</p>
<p>“Sore,” Wilson teased, keeping the pace slow and steady, nearly slipping free from the hot clench of House’s muscles before sliding forward at an unhurried speed. Each inward press dragged along his prostate, squeezing the breath from his lungs. House chose to ignore the embarrassing noise that rattled free from his chest.</p>
<p>“Nah,” he choked out, breathing in sharply as Jimmy drove his hips forward. “Barely feel it.”</p>
<p>Which proved to be the encouragement the younger man needed to jerk his hips forward sharply.</p>
<p>“S’good,” House slurred, letting his face press against the door, lips busted open and breath panting out against the wood as Jimmy’s speed increased. Wilson’s fingers dug into the cut of his hip, pulling him back to meet each thrust. The varnished surface was hot and damp against his cheek as Wilson rocked him forward.</p>
<p>“It’s good,” Wilson repeated, somehow seemingly driving his hips forward more roughly – as if he took House’s affirmation as a personal challenge to fuck him more thoroughly. The hand in Jimmy’s shirt spread on the door by his face, cushioning his cheek as the younger man manhandled him into place so Wilson could plough into House delightfully deep.</p>
<p>Whatever snarky comment he had planned on saying darted out of his mind, or rather . . . oozed out of his ears as Wilson snapped his hips particularly hard. The oncologist’s hand planted flat next House’s head and his elbow straightened as Jimmy used the position for better penetration – which should have been impossible. But as it was, Wilson was dicking down exceptionally well, and House couldn’t exactly catch a full breath, let alone form a multi-tier thought.</p>
<p>“So good,” House panted, hips canting backward to encourage impossibly deeper, back arching against Wilson’s heavy weight resting against his ribs where the younger man’s chest had seared to his upper back. Jimmy’s teeth closed along the spine of his scapula, his hot breath filtering through the thin fabric of House’s shirt.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Wilson finally managed to grit out, voice cracking at the edges. “Touch yourself,” the younger man seemingly asked, tone lilting upward as his forehead pressed against the nape of House’s neck. And to be honest, House wasn’t entirely sure he had the appropriate mental facilities to properly work himself over just then, but Jimmy had asked so nicely.  </p>
<p>House wrapped his fingers around his cock, pulling along the soft skin slick with precum. His length jerked in his hand, pleasure sparking along his nerve ending as the ridged band popped over his glans, his palm twisting wetly over his tip. His body clenched, his hips jutting backward to encourage Jimmy’s thrusts. Deft fingers dug in around his hip, tugging House backward.</p>
<p>“Nnh fuck,” Jimmy gasped out, words barbing damply in the curls of his ear – that noise taking House apart like it always did, stirring that hungry, wanting thing hotly in his guts. “Not gonna last Greg,” the younger man breathed against his skin, doubling his efforts to seemingly fuck the breath out of House’s chest – and doing a pretty good job of it.</p>
<p>And House tried to keep up with that pace, focusing on the slick-slide of his dick through his fingers as pleasure consumed him at both ends. His orgasm coiled and writhed in his guts, his body tight with it but it lingered stickily around his spine – courtesy of a rather spectacular fucking earlier in the day. Until Wilson’s fingers slotted between his, pulling their hands along quicker as Jimmy’s hips snapped against his whiplash-quick.</p>
<p>A punched-out breath drew along House’s skin as Wilson bore forward, pressing him firmly against the door as Jimmy’s hips ground against House’s ass as the younger man came. And still, Wilson was grinding against him, tugged at House’s cock until his orgasm pulled free – spilling over their fingers and splashing against the door.</p>
<p>The door held them up, Wilson’s weight heavy and hot against his back as their chests heaved together. Jimmy’s breath skirted along his neck, and House pressed his face against the cooling wood. Lips smeared along his slowing pulse. A clammy forehead pressed against his jawline, Wilson sighing against the sensitive flesh around his Adam’s apple. Even there – after the rushed, down-and-dirty of their fucking – the intimacy settled around them as they basked in the shared afterglow.</p>
<p>“Pizza,” Wilson asked, finally pulling away. For a moment, House thought he might slip to the floor without that weight pinning him in place. But that would have been embarrassing so he firmly locked his knees and focused on his breathing. He slowly bent over, reaching for his jeans carefully as his hips throbbed delightfully.</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” he muttered, wondering just how long his winning streak would hold even as his thigh twinged pitifully.</p>
<p>Because all good things had to come to an end – it was only to be expected, after all, when missing a rather large chunk of thigh meat. He managed to hide it from Wilson for a couple of days – four and a half, not that he was counting – before House winced and the oncologist noticed. Jimmy <em>always</em> noticed.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you go sit,” Wilson said, the picture of nonchalance with his diverted attention as he focused on their dinner. But House knew better, because it’d been the norm for so long – Jimmy mother henning him, subtly or blatantly – since Stacy had left, since the infarction. And the churlish, bratty part of him wanted to tell Wilson he was over-reacting, that it was just a twinge, to not treat him like a child.</p>
<p>But he knew better.</p>
<p>The treatment was wearing off. The hurt in his leg was crawling back – the persistence of it was mounting, and the deep-muscle ache of it made him grind his teeth. So, House grunted low in his throat and turned to the living room, throwing himself down on his cushion – the middle one – and mindlessly rubbed at his thigh, leaning back against the sofa.</p>
<p>He had expected dinner when Wilson came into the living room, but the younger man merely settled in his spot to House’s right and reached for his leg. “It has to bake for twenty minutes,” Wilson intoned, as he pulled House’s thigh into his lap. His thumbs and palm heels bore down along the femur, making their way around the expanse of the crater in his thigh.</p>
<p>The intimacy of it sunk down into House – seemingly filling all the empty places in his poor, miserable heart – and his breath hitched. Because they’d been there before, Jimmy dutifully playing nursemaid as House tried to work through the pain, to acclimate himself to the new norm of it. His head dropped back against the couch, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of Wilson’s touch sink into his ruined leg. And it hit him – an epiphany that sparked along his neurons, snarled down into his heart.</p>
<p>Swallowing hard against that realization, he swept it aside and instead told them both a lie he’d always told – when the touch on his leg got to be too much, when the tenderness Wilson offered up selflessly choked him. “Leg’s fine Jimmy.” A direct lie, but everybody lies. And Wilson only hummed, as he slowly pulling himself out from under House once the buzzer in the kitchen groaned. House watched the younger man go, his lips threatening to upturn in an instinctual smile that he swallowed down – realizing then just how <em>fucked </em>he was.</p>
<p>Sure – he had been picking at that Gordian knot the past few weeks, looking closely at their relationship. But it seemed like his differential had only hedged at what the real issue was. He had even come to conclusion that he <em>had</em> been falling for Wilson, had realized that the sticky, warm feeling he felt when he was around the younger man was a four-lettered word that he definitely didn’t want to name. But the issue was . . . that somehow, some way, he had already managed to fall desperately, <em>stupidly</em> in love with his best friend. And his heart squeezed at that; the thought rebounded off the walls of his skull, reverberated down into his bones, steeped into his lungs.</p>
<p>Dinner was something with sausage and peppers, some type of noodle but House barely tasted it, thoughts whirling restlessly – all some form of <em>he was in love with Jimmy</em>. And that . . . well, that was something. He tried to trace the emotion back, follow it to its source – but it had always been there, hadn’t it. Since the blue-smoke atmosphere of a Louisiana bar all those years ago.</p>
<p>He should have known.</p>
<p>Because he still couldn’t hear <em>Leave A Tender Moment Alone</em> without smiling and tasting cheap beer on his tongue and smelling a cocktail of stale smoke, spilled whiskey, and Jimmy. And sometimes, when Wilson laughed particularly fully, he thought of doing way too many shots with a newly minted oncologist. And when Jimmy looked at him, irritated and fond and amused at the same time, House thought of Wilson just inside a hotel room door held open a little too long like an invitation, gazing at House with eyes just a little too warm with drink and something like want.</p>
<p>His guts squirmed.</p>
<p>Yeah, he was fucked.</p>
<p>“You’re quiet,” Wilson said, snapping him out of his thoughts – dragging him back to present, with Wilson once again. He glanced over at the oncologist, who’s attention was firmly on the TV. House couldn’t even remember what they were watching for a moment, blinking dumbly at the screen as he watched Eddie shoot Nash before turning his attention on poor, dying Mister Orange.</p>
<p>Normally, House loved that movie. But just then, his mind was all knotted up in thoughts of Jimmy. How many nights had they spent on the sofa – sharing greasy pizza, cold beer and crummy plotlines? How often had his gaze drifted along the younger doctor’s features, or he had tried to capitalize on Wilson’s time, or that he had ruined the other’s chances with potential partners?</p>
<p>How could he not have seen it?</p>
<p>House shoved himself upward abruptly. “You want a drink?” But already, he was making his way over to the fireplace, snatching up the half-empty bottle of bourbon. He dropped back down on the sofa, twisting the cork free and taking a healthy swig before holding the bottle out to Wilson.</p>
<p>“Classy,” the younger man quipped wryly, but he accepted the bottle and upturned it. Jimmy grimaced as he swallowed, eyes squinting at the burn of it. It was unfairly endearing, stupidly attractive, and House gulped at the bourbon if only to feel something else.</p>
<p>They shared the bottle, shoulders touching as gravity and drink pulled them in closer. Wilson’s head tilted, rested against his, and House could hear the soft rasp of his breathing. His senses were flooded with Jimmy – with the sandalwood-lavender and cardamom-leather scent of him, with the blood-hot heat of him, the softness of his hair against House’s cheek, the sound of his breathy laughter as Vincent and Jules watched Honey Bunny and Pumpkin hold up the diner.</p>
<p>Alcohol was meant to be a depressant, but it served to amplify <em>everything</em>. And in that moment, cradled delicately in the muted glow of the TV, in the almost-cozy living room – House could almost convince himself that he could have that. That he <em>could</em> have Jimmy and a life that was warm and soft. And that thought had him drinking deeply from the bottle, his heart squeezing pitifully.</p>
<p>But then the bottle was empty – having been only half-full to begin with, and <em>definitely</em> not enough to take the sharp, worried edge of emotion off. Because there was Wilson smiling widely at him, dark eyes glimmering over bunched cheeks flushed with drink. Looking <em>so</em> <em>fucking beautiful</em> that it hurt him. And how was House supposed to not kiss him.</p>
<p>Their lips slotted messily together, clumsy hands pulling at their clothes. And the younger man tasted like whiskey – like he probably would have all those years ago – as their tongues tangled, Jimmy’s hand curling in House’s hair and tugging. And House went willingly, crowding Wilson back against the arm of the sofa as he kissed him.</p>
<p>House leaned back, sharing the oncologist’s air as his forehead pressed against Wilson’s, eyes closed because it hurt to look at Jimmy like that – open and vulnerable; <em>precious</em>. It made those stupid three words puddle hotly in his chest, so House just kissed him again – scraping that soft bottom lip with his teeth before pressing his mouth firmly against Jimmy’s. His mouth dragged down Wilson’s throat, which the oncologist offered willingly with a softly whimpered moan.</p>
<p>“Bed,” he choked out against the younger man’s skin, which sounded oddly like a breathed-out confession more than an offer.</p>
<p>And in the bedroom, as they fumbled with each other’s clothes, House’s kisses took on a sense of urgency. Hot, biting things with too much teeth and sloppy tongue-work – parting only to discard shirts, to kick away pants, to stumble into bed.</p>
<p>The feeling of Jimmy under him, the sight and sound of him as the younger man’s hand found its way into his hair, pulling their mouths together in the slick-slow slide of lips, well . . . it had House almost believing in that probably there, fucked up God. And the rock of their hips was lazy, like it had been all those weeks ago – slow and languid, the creeping chase of pleasure. And they fitted together <em>perfectly</em>, as Wilson opened for him and soft moans breathed into the air around them. That thought punched into him, crushing the breath from his lungs as House buried his face in the crook of the younger man’s neck. Fingers tightened in his hair, dug at his back, and House laid softhearted kisses on sweat-slick skin in penance for crimes he had yet to commit.</p>
<p>They moved together in that primordial pursuit of rapture, and House spoke his devotion. He whispered it in touches against Jimmy’s skin, with the press of lingering kisses to his throat, with breathy sounds sighed between them. And he shouted it with the unhurried motion of his thrusts, with fingers born down hard around Jimmy’s hips, with teeth against his collarbone as he sucked a mark to supple flesh. House squinted his eyes shut and focused on the feel of Wilson under him, around him, anchoring him.</p>
<p>And after, House placed sluggish kisses along Wilson’s heaving chest as the younger man combed fingers through his hair. There was that intimacy burning him – bluely licking at the damp walls of his chest, consuming him; the hurt of it sucking the breath from his lungs to fuel itself into an inferno. He focused on the slowing pound of the younger man’s heart, the drag of his breathing. And he watched shadows creep across the floor, pooling at the corners of the room as Jimmy drifted off to sleep – leaving House with thoughts that were <em>much </em>too loud. Just a lonely cacophony rattling around behind the fused bones of his skull.</p>
<p>He was <em>in love</em> with James Wilson.</p>
<p>And it had to stop.</p>
<p>If his heart squeezed in hurt at that thought, well – he could ignore it. Because laying there in bed, listening to Jimmy breathe, House couldn’t ignore those words anymore. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t completely <em>gone </em>on the younger man. Couldn’t tell himself that he didn’t want the oncologist in his bed, in his home, in his <em>life</em> as more than just a friend – best or otherwise – that Wilson occasionally fell into the sack with.</p>
<p>If he curled a little closer to Wilson’s sleeping form – who would know. And if he didn’t really sleep, well that was just his insomnia flaring up wasn’t it.</p>
<p>Sometime around dawn, House silenced Wilson’s alarm – but not in a need for more time spent with his nose pressed to the nape of Jimmy’s neck, breathing in the sleep-faded and body-warmed scent of sandalwood-lavender soap, of cardamom-leather cologne. Nope. He’d just spent the night awake, listening to Wilson breathe deeply enough that it could count as almost-snoring, and House <em>needed </em>his beauty sleep.</p>
<p>House watched the sunrise drag itself lethargically across the floorboards of his – <em>not theirs </em>– bedroom, the stain of it just visible over Wilson’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Finally, about eight, he pulled himself out of bed. In the bathroom, there were Wilson’s various skin care products scattered on the vanity, his shampoo and bodywash in the shower, his toothbrush by the sink. The oncologist had seemingly moved back in without House knowing – paying for a place he rarely saw, keeping the lights on and the air running only to sleep in House’s bed.</p>
<p>It had to stop.</p>
<p>In the kitchen, there were two mugs by the coffee maker – the sink clear of dishes, the counters clean because Wilson was anal about that. And in the fridge, there were dinners the younger man had made for him, for <em>them</em> – a pot roast, a casserole, a chunky soup-thing, a rice dish. He let the door breathe shut behind him as House turned away, going about making coffee. The machine burbled happily, completely unaware of the fact that the simple domesticity around it was about to implode, and the scent of bitter coffee filtered into the air.</p>
<p>House looked around the kitchen before he half-limped toward the living room, hand spreading along the dull ache in his thigh. The throw over the sofa was something Bubbie Wilson had knitted, a red and cream monstrosity that was a nod to McGill and comfier than it looked. There were Wilson’s shoes by the kitchen table, his briefcase in a chair, his coat hung up by the door.</p>
<p>His heart squeezed – because it looked right, felt right sharing his space with Jimmy. Had since that night all those weeks ago, when Julie had kicked Wilson out and House had woken to nails being clipped and an obnoxiously loud hairdryer. And he had <em>known</em> it was a mistake to let the younger man stay. Had <em>known</em> that the longer he let himself wrap up in that domesticity, that comfort the harder it would be to let it go.</p>
<p>Because Jimmy deserved to be happy, and well . . . House had gotten pretty damn good at being miserable.</p>
<p>It <em>had</em> to stop.</p>
<p>At half past nine, over his second cup of coffee, House heard the pipes rattle to life. Taking a pensive sip, House found that his coffee had gone cold, and the second cup met the same fate of the first and was unceremoniously dumped into the sink. But needing something to do with his hands, House dumbly cradled the cup – Wilson’s – in his palms. If he was rehearsing what he was going to say to the younger man . . . well, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.</p>
<p>Ten minutes – give or take – was all he was allotted for learning his lines, as the water shut off as Wilson took perhaps the quickest shower of his adult life. Quickest since House had known him, at least. He waited for the hairdryer to blare, to hear Wilson humming softly as he tied his tie, for . . . anything that would show that the morning was just the same as the ones before it. That it would keep on going that way, even if it couldn’t.</p>
<p>“I am <em>so late</em>,” Wilson bleated, practically running into the kitchen – necktie slung around his upturned collar, shirt buttoned but untucked, belt undone, hair only haphazardly towel-dried. And he looked infuriatingly perfect, and there was that shaft of tender affection, of domesticity burrowing between House’s ribs and <em>wrenching</em> as the younger man rifled in the fridge for foodstuffs.</p>
<p>And why <em>couldn’t </em>he have that? Why <em>couldn’t </em>he have Jimmy in his bed, his <em>home</em> for always?</p>
<p>But House knew why, didn’t he. Because Greg House ruined most things, drove everyone away in the end, and losing Jimmy would be a blow he’d never recover from. No, it was best he cut it down before the weed that had grown in his chest could bloom – never mind that blooms were already sprouting along the slats of his ribs, way down deep in his lungs. Because it was <em>best</em> that they go back to the way things had been before.</p>
<p><em>It had to stop</em>.</p>
<p>“Do you want to ride in with me,” Wilson asked before cramming a cold bagel in his mouth for holding while he tied his tie, looking earnestly at House with dark brows lifted.</p>
<p>“I think you should stay at your place tonight,” House responded instead, earning him some rather rapid blinks as if Wilson was trying to process the abrupt shift in conversation but was having a hard time. The younger man’s head cocked to the side in question, and his hands faltered mid-knot. Quite carefully, Wilson put his bagel on the counter, his hands pulling his tie undone and beginning it again – much slower, as if thinking overly hard about the process.</p>
<p>“Ah . . . alright? Sure.” Jimmy’s gaze was firmly on the ground. “I mean, if you need some time without me, yeah that’s fine. I can do that.”</p>
<p>House nodded, even if the oncologist wasn’t paying attention – because it hurt way more than he had expected it to. And he had expected it to hurt pretty damn bad. But there was Wilson looking like a kicked puppy, with no idea what he had done wrong, but loyal and trusting that House had at least <em>some </em>idea of what was best.</p>
<p>“You’re just . . . lonely, Wilson. All this crap with Julie, with Grace . . . you just needed a soft place to land,” he said carefully, turning to put Wilson’s coffee mug in the sink.</p>
<p>Wilson scoffed derisively. “You’re right. Soft place is <em>exactly </em>what I think of when someone mentions Greg House.”</p>
<p>He turned just in time to catch the younger man shaking his head, stepping into his shoes while tucking in his shirt, buckling his belt. “You know – I get it, House.” The oncologist shuffled things around in his briefcase before gripping it tightly, draping his suit jacket over his crooked arm. “Feel free to put it out of mind. I’ll stay at mine.”</p>
<p>The younger man was doggedly ignoring looking at him, and House watched the way his throat flexed as he swallowed. For a moment, he thought Wilson would say something else – but Jimmy just huffed out a sound that was meant to be a laugh but fell tragically short. And House was rethinking everything as Wilson gave him a look, chewing at his bottom lip as if to keep words in and dark eyes looking endless. But in the end, Jimmy just nodded his head, squaring his shoulders as he headed for the door.</p>
<p>“I get it,” floated over his shoulder, as Wilson gathered up his keys. As the door clicked deafeningly loud behind the younger man. As House noticed the bagel abandoned on the counter. As his world tried to splinter around him.</p>
<p>
  <em>It had to be done.</em>
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